


Callousness and Kindliness

by GinevraEowynUndomiel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Post-Season/Series 07 AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-10-24 17:31:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17708621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinevraEowynUndomiel/pseuds/GinevraEowynUndomiel
Summary: Threats from beyond the Wall and King's Landing are threatening Winterfell. While Jon Snow comes to terms with his fate, Sansa Stark must be the Lady her people need.  She never expect to wed again let alone love. What will she do when someone unexpected arrives? Post-Season 7, likely AU after Season 8 premieres. Show canon for everything prior.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, readers! It's been a loooong time since I wrote some fan fiction, but I needed to get this story on paper, so to speak. This is based on show canon since I haven't finished reading the books. It will very likely become A/U once Season 8 drops, so bear with me. Be prepared for a lighter tone than GRRM. I'm a fan, but I need a happy ending for Sansa no matter what happens in the show. I'm planning a slow build to SanSan, getting influence from one of my other favorite authors, the great Jane Austen. Don't worry, I'm planning smut down the line, but a quick romance wouldn't be good storytelling. Not sure how often I will update as my free time is limited. There likely won't be any sort of regularity, but I will try my best to see this through and not abandon it. Enjoy, and leave a review!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, readers! It's been a loooong time since I wrote some fan fiction, but I needed to get this story on paper, so to speak. This is based on show canon since I haven't finished reading the books. It will very likely become A/U once Season 8 drops, so bear with me. Be prepared for a lighter tone than GRRM. I'm a fan, but I need a happy ending for Sansa no matter what happens in the show. I'm planning a slow build to SanSan, getting influence from one of my other favorite authors, the great Jane Austen. Don't worry, I'm planning smut down the line, but a quick romance wouldn't be good storytelling. Not sure how often I will update as my free time is limited. There likely won't be any sort of regularity, but I will try my best to see this through and not abandon it. Enjoy, and leave a review!
> 
> Update: I've made some minor changes to this chapter to fix some typos and align it a little closer to canon. Enjoy!

**Chapter 1**  

**Tyrion**

He lay awake in his bunk, unable to sleep with the rocking of the ship.  So Daenerys was following through with her plans of bringing the North back into the fold.  Though bedding Jon Snow certainly wouldn’t be as permanent as marriage.  There was no denying that they were forming a chemistry ever since the White Wolf had arrived on Dragonstone and asked for dragon glass.

Of course she never would have considered him.  He was a Lannister.  While he’d earned her trust in the months since he’d arrived in Meereen, his brother had murdered her father, and his sister sat on her throne.  She didn’t need Lannister gold, or what was left of it after Robert and Joffrey had spent it on whores and wars.  Cersei couldn’t be doing much better after blowing up her alliance with the Tyrells.  Then there was Tyrion’s condition.  Daenerys liked dark, large men (or at least normal sized in the case of Snow).  Though she was petite, he was smaller than she.  She respected him as her Hand and no more. 

But they were sailing for White Harbor and then on to Winterfell.  He thought of who would be there waiting to greet them.  Sansa Stark was no longer a girl.  She was a woman grown, and from what he’d heard from her brother, she was much changed since she’d disappeared from King’s Landing.  Somehow he held no resentment for her disappearance after Joffrey’s murder.  If she’d remained, Cersei would have executed her without question.  He felt terrible about the things she’d experienced in the intervening years. 

Yes, that was the way.  Jon Snow might be King in the North, but he was still a bastard.  With Bran Stark unable to be Lord of Winterfell, that had left Sansa as the Lady, being Ned and Catelyn Stark’s oldest trueborn daughter.  Securing the North would require the marriage of a trueborn Stark to one of Daenerys’ allies.  Technically, a septon might say they were still married.  As far as he understood, her marriage to Ramsey Bolton had been a Northern ceremony.  Surely Sansa would agree that Tyrion was better than any alternative her brother would negotiate.  He would speak to Jon before they arrived at Winterfell.

* * *

**Sandor**

His bunk was too small, the rocking of the ship was unnatural, and Jorah Mormont snored above him. 

Lying awake, the Hound plotted different scenarios where he could kill his brother, or what was left of him.  Though he had only seen Gregor’s eyes inside his helm, Sandor could tell that he was a shell of his former self.  What had Cersei done to him?  Not that he cared.  Gregor had tormented him since they were boys.  Sandor had never forgiven him for causing their sister’s “accident” and their mother’s grief that took her. 

Nevertheless, he’d come to realize that Clegane men were too much for women.  Too strong.  Too angry.  Too violent.  Whores shrunk away from him whenever he ventured into the brothels of King’s Landing.  The list of women who had carried their own around him was short.  Of course there was Brienne of fucking Tarth, but did she really count as a woman?  Cersei was a queen, so that was entirely different.  She appreciated his brutishness in protecting her son.  Then there was the little she-wolf.  That was different.  She’d seen so much hatred and violence in her short life that the Hound didn’t scare her.  Her sister, on the other hand… 

The Little Bird had been frightened of him as soon as she laid eyes on him.  He knew right away that Lady Sansa was too good for King’s Landing and the likes of Joffrey.  She was so naïve and gentle.  Her sister’s pranks and behavior in Winterfell and on the King’s Road had visibly upset her.  He’d used her fear of him to break her.  If she was to be Queen, she had to leave behind her good breeding and honor bestowed by her parents.  She had to become like Cersei and the rest of them if she was to survive.

But Lady Sansa had surprised him.  Slowly she hadn’t let her fear of him show so much.  And of course after a certain point she’d had to accept that Joffrey was not like a prince from the tales.  He was a cruel bastard who’d humiliated her, beat her, and left her to be raped by his subjects that he was supposed to care for.  And knights?  It had been _Ser_ Meryn Trant who had beaten her on Joffrey’s orders. 

No.  Lady Sansa learned how to survive in King’s Landing.  There was a part of Sandor that regretted that he hadn’t insisted that she come with him, but at the same time he understood.  Even though he’d shown her small kindnesses, she’s clearly still been afraid of him when he’d broken into her room during the Battle of Blackwater Bay. 

What did she think of him now?  Did she know he was still alive, or had the little she-wolf told her sister what had happened?  Then there was Brienne of fucking Tarth who’d believed that she’d bested him until she saw him in King’s Landing with Jon Snow’s party.  What she told him of Arya made him proud in a fatherly sort of way.  His little she-wolf had made it home after all.  But what of her sister?  Brienne hadn’t said much about Sansa, and he hadn’t dared to ask.  Jon had accepted him, but Sandor wasn’t sure how much his sisters had told him about their experiences with the Hound.

He shook himself.  What was he thinking?  He’d done his part in making sure the Stark girls got home.  He didn’t deserve anything more.  Would the Lady of Winterfell even let him in the gates?  He didn’t remember much from the Blackwater, but he vaguely remembered being in her chambers.  Had he…?  He wasn’t sure.  Either he hadn’t, or Sansa hadn’t said anything to Jon.  From what he’d heard, she’d suffered far worse at the hands of the Bolton bastard.  He’d even smiled to himself when Jon had said she’d set his dogs on him.  But Sandor wouldn’t entertain the idea that she’d ever consider him for more than his sword.

* * *

**Sansa**

The Lady of Winterfell bustled about ensuring that everything was ready for the return of the King in the North.  Jon had sent several ravens over the last few months with what he’d been doing.  Daenerys Targaryn had agreed to allow them to mine the dragon glass.  Then he’d gone beyond the Wall and secured a wight to take to King’s Landing and secure a truce with Cersei.  According to the last raven, Jon, Daenerys, and their companions were sailing for White Harbor.  Cersei had believed the wight was real but resisted a truce.  Her armies would wait out the Long Night and come for them after. 

Jon made no mention of who was traveling with him other than Queen Daenerys, Lord Tyrion, Ser Davos, and others.  Lady Brienne and Podrick were returning by the King’s Road.  Obviously Jon hadn’t gone beyond the Wall alone, but he hadn’t said who he’d gone with.  Tormund remained at Eastwatch.  But if Bran’s visions were correct, Eastwatch was gone and the Wall breached. 

Still, Jon hadn’t gone to King’s Landing with only Davos and Daenerys and her retinue.  Sansa would have to wait for their arrival to find out.  But she played the role of Lady of the keep and prepared all of the rooms and the barracks for guests.  She had already settled herself in her mother’s little used chambers.  Arya had protested that Sansa should sleep in her own as she and Bran did, but Sansa had broken down and revealed that Ramsey had locked her in her old chambers.  Arya relented after that.  Jon refused their father’s chambers and had reclaimed his own.  Robb’s chambers had been cleansed of Ramsey’s affects and remained closed along with Rickon’s.

The guest chambers and quarters were simpler.  Guest chambers were prepared for Queen Daenerys and Lord Tyrion.  Samwell Tarly, Gilly and Little Sam, Ser Davos, Lady Brienne, and Podrick had quarters already, and other rooms were prepared for the rest of the party.  Winterfell was ready for the arrival of the Dragon Queen, but would they be ready for whatever lied ahead?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again! Some extra days off from my day job because of weather are allowing me time to write. Not to mention that more chapters will bring more readers and reviews! Now we get to see if Jon will use Sansa as a political pawn or give her freedom to make her own choices ;) Also, this chapter will have hints of Jon/Dany, but I'm not planning to go too deep into it right now.
> 
> Update: This chapter has also had some minor editing.

** Chapter 2 **

**Jon**

Jon awoke to soft humming and movement in the cabin.  He could tell by the gray light coming through the portholes that it was still early.  He looked at the pillow next to him and saw gentle waves of silvery hair.

“It wasn’t a dream,” he said, sitting up.

“No, my lord,” said Missandei, going through Daenerys’ trunks.

He rubbed his eyes.  “I suppose I should leave before anyone else notices.”

Missandei smiled to herself.  “If the Queen wanted you to leave before she woke, you would know.  I will have your things brought in for you.”

“But…,” he started.  She left before he could finish.

He flopped down on the pillow and looked up at the ceiling.  This had not been part of the plan.  He’d bent the knee to get dragon glass and Daenerys’ dragons and armies for the impending battle with the dead.  But as far as his people knew, he was still King in the North.  Starks were known for their honor, and though he wasn’t a Stark in name, it was expected that he would be wed before bedding (whores excepted, of course, though he’d never indulged). 

Daenerys stirred and opened her eyes.  “Have they need of us, Jon?”

He continued to look at the ceiling as the sheet covering her left little to the imagination.  “Not yet, Your Grace.  Missandei was in preparing your wardrobe.”

“Hmm,” she purred, examining his chest hair, “Not to worry, you won’t have to walk out in the same things you came in with.”

“Daenerys…” he sighed, “I’m not sure what brought me here last night, but my bannermen would have my head if they knew I’d bedded the Dragon Queen.”

She put on a regal glare.  “And what of it?  They are not here.  I am your queen, and I let you into my bed.  Is this really about bannermen, or is this the Stark honor that Tyrion speaks of?”

He turned away from her.  “I may be the King in the North, but I’m still Jon Snow.  There’s no being rid of being Ned Stark’s bastard.”

She nestled behind him and wrapped an arm around his chest.  “I could change that,” she said, “I would name you Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

“Warden of the North, perhaps,” he said, taking her hand in his, “But there is already a Lady of Winterfell.”

“And what will the Lady of Winterfell say about our arrival?” Daenerys whispered in his ear.

“Sansa is expecting you, Your Grace,” he replied, “But not this.  Not us.”

“So after we defeat the Night King and I get my throne, marry your sisters off and join me in King’s Landing.  We’ll join our houses,” she said with finality, “But until then, Jon Snow, you are mine.”

“Sansa has been a marriage pawn three times,” Jon said, “I will not do that to her again.  And Arya would never forgive me.  She’d sooner run any potential suitor through.”

“Your sisters are half Tullys, are they not?” Daenerys asked.

“Aye,” Jon replied.

“Are the Tully words not, ‘Family, Duty, Honor’?” she said, kissing his neck with each word.

At that moment, Missandei returned with fresh clothes for Jon and to ready Daenerys for the day.

“Thank you Missandei, I can manage myself,” Daenerys said.

“Yes, Khaleesi,” Missandei said, leaving again.

Jon sighed, retrieving his small clothes.  “I would never dishonor Lord and Lady Stark by marrying off their daughters without their consent.”

Daenerys huffed and made to ready herself.  “Ned and Catelyn Stark are gone, Jon.  Your sisters should respect your decisions.”

“Oh, like your brother did for you?” he snapped, a little too unkindly.

“We women learn early that we cannot always marry for love,” she said.  “Sometimes we are lucky enough to find love in marriage as I did with Drogo.”

“The Lord of the Vale is Lady Sansa’s cousin,” Jon replied, “We will need the Knights of the Vale.”

“And you worry that if you marry her off, the Knights of the Vale will follow her or ride home,” Daenerys said, seeming to understand his motives.

“Yes,” he said, buckling his belt, “Excuse me, Your Grace, I should see to my men.  We should be arriving in White Harbor today.”

* * *

 

**Tyrion**

Tyrion watched casually as he saw Missandei leave the Queen’s cabin.

“Is the King in the North with her?” he asked.

“Yes, Lord Tyrion,” she replied.  “I expect he’ll be out soon.”

“Good, good,” Tyrion said, “I need to speak with him before we arrive in White Harbor.”

Tyrion waited for what seemed like hours until Jon Snow finally emerged from Daenerys’ cabin.

Tyrion stepped out of his hiding place under the stairs.

“A word, Lord Snow,” he said.

Jon hesitated.  “Yes, Lord Tyrion?”

“We land in White Harbor today, as I understand it,” Tyrion said, falling into step.

“Aye, we do,” Jon said, not looking at him.

“Before you say anything, this has nothing to do with last night,” Tyrion said, “Though as her Hand I ask you to consider your motives.”

Jon glanced at him.  “Go on.”

“As I’m sure you are aware, your sister, Lady Stark, was my wife for a time in King’s Landing,” Tyrion said formally. 

“I did hear about that,” Jon said.

“Well, though our marriage was unconsummated, allowing her to be married to the Bolton bastard,” Tyrion continued, “I believe the Seven would still recognize our marriage as legitimate.  While you have been named King in the North, I believe it would be in Queen Daenerys’ best interest to secure a match with a trueborn Stark to secure the North.  As your brother is not able to, that leaves Lady Stark.”

Jon stopped and got down on his knee to look Tyrion in the eyes.  “You’re the second person who’s brought up my sister and her marriage prospects this morning,” he said, clearly trying to remain calm.  “Until the Night King is defeated and your sister removed from the Iron Throne, I will make no promises for my sisters.” 

Tyrion pondered his next words carefully.  “An admirable sentiment,” he replied.  “But while I appreciate what Lady Sansa has been through, the suitors will come calling for the most eligible lady in the North.”

“Let them come,” Jon said.  He stood and strode away.

* * *

**Sandor**

He’d woken early with little sleep.  He stood on the port side and watched the coastline of Westeros pass by.  The cliffs of the Vale were gone, replaced by the rocky shores of the North.  The captain said they’d be in White Harbor by early evening. 

As he stood, Jon Snow approached, seemingly unsettled by something.

“Clegane,” he said.

“Aye, Your Grace,” the Hound replied, surprisingly formal.

“Lady Brienne rides for Winterfell but will likely not beat us there,” Jon said.

“What of it?” Sandor asked, looking at him with his scarred eye.

“I was kindly reminded that my sisters may require some extra eyes watching their backs,” Jon said.

Sandor hesitated.  “They’re home, aren’t they?  The little she-wolf can look after herself from what I hear, and Lady Stark has your men with her night and day.

“Just… keep an eye on the Queen’s Hand for me,” Jon said, looking him the eye before returning below decks.

Sandor frowned.  What could the Imp want with the Little Bird?  Though he’d shown her small kindness in King’s Landing, she hadn’t seemed overly favorable toward him.  Sandor couldn’t imagine that their short marriage had been a happy one.

And why was Jon Snow asking him?  What had he done to deserve the trust of the King in the North?  He’d caused nothing but terror for that poor girl, and he’d kidnapped her sister and run around the Riverlands and the Vale in search of a ransom for her.  Surely they didn’t think so highly of him.  How could they even know he’d survived?  Did they know?  What a surprise that would be!

His thoughts were interrupted by the Imp himself.

“Hound,” Tyrion said, standing next to him.

“Imp,” the Hound replied.

“I need to collect on a debt,” Tyrion said.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘A Lannister always pays his debts.’” Sandor recited.  “Get on with it.”

“I need an audience with Lady Stark,” the Imp replied, not taking his eyes off the coastline.

“And what’s in it for me?” the Hound asked.

“A skin of the best wine the Starks have and your pick of the prettiest whore in Wintertown.”

“So her brother said no then,” the Hound barked a laugh.  “I’ll see what I can do, but I should warn you he’s asked me to stand in as her sworn shield until the Tarth woman returns.”

“Oh,” said Tyrion.  “Well then please understand that my intentions are strictly honorable.  I just want a word with my wife.”

Sandor grunted, attempting to pass it off as his assent.

“I thank you, Clegane,” Tyrion said before waddling below decks.

“Some husband you’ve been,” Sandor said under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Hound! How will he manage wolves, dragons, and lions fighting over his Little Bird? Will Sansa return to being Lady Lannister? Next up, a sped up ride to Winterfell and the Dragon Queen's arrival! As always, enjoy and review!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fast update! Apparently I'm in a writing mood. Please keep the reads and reviews coming! You and these characters are my inspiration.
> 
> For any subscribed readers who've already read the first two chapters, I suggest you go back and read them quickly. I did make some minor changes thanks to your comments.
> 
> Update: I edited this chapter within minutes of uploading it. Guess I need to really read though before I post!

** Chapter 3 **

**Jon**

The fleet arrived in White Harbor as expected.  The banners on the keep of House Manderly blew in the sea air.  Jon could see a crowd of Manderly soldiers and townspeople gathered at the dock.  Jon had sent a raven to Lord Wyman Manderly that they should expect the King in the North with Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons.  Drogon and Rhaegal circled above the ship, but thankfully Jon saw no ballistae aimed their direction.

The crowds gave a warm reception to their King and gave curious glances at the Dragon Queen.    Jon was not about to tell the small folk or Lord Manderly that he’d bent the knee to Daenerys until he’d spoken to Sansa.  He wanted her to hear it from him and not from rumors or ravens from their bannermen.

They spent a few days in White Harbor offloading their supplies and the first shipment of dragon glass.  In the meantime, Jon sent a raven to Winterfell informing Sansa of their arrival in White Harbor.  He received a reply that Sam and Gilly had unexpectedly arrived from Oldtown, and Sam and Bran needed to speak with him soon after his return.  Jon wasn’t sure what to make of that, but Bran was difficult to read these days.

The news that Eastwatch had fallen and the Wall being breached made him anxious to leave for Winterfell.  He purchased a small cart to carry some of the dragon glass with them and left the rest with Lord Manderly to be sent on in regular shipments along with waves of Dothraki and Unsullied accompanied by Manderly men.  Daenerys would fly out on Drogon as she was able and check their progress. 

The ten day ride north to Winterfell was uneventful.  Jon and Daenerys shared a tent, and none of their companions said a word about it.  Ser Jorah Mormont would give Jon the occasional look, but he said nothing.

One evening when they were camped a day’s ride south of Castle Cerwyn, Tyrion approached him at the evening fire after Daenerys retired early from scouting on the progress of her armies from White Harbor. 

“Not far from Winterfell now, Lord Snow,” the dwarf said.

“I’m aware, seeing as we’re in my kingdom,” Jon said gruffly.

“No need for your Stark witticisms,” Tyrion chuckled.

“What do you want?” Jon asked.

“To ask you once more to logically consider the future of Lady Sansa,” he said.

Jon glared.  “I’ve given you an answer.”  

“Indeed you have,” Tyrion said unfazed.  “I just thought I would remind the Lord Paramount of the North that his widowed and unbred sister is still the most eligible Lady in the North.”

“Believe me, Lord Tyrion, no one is more aware of that than me,” Jon said, measuring his words carefully.

“I ask you to reconsider my offer,” the dwarf said.  “I have a rapport with Lady Sansa from her time in King’s Landing.  I would see that she comes to no harm.”

“And where would you take her?” Jon asked.  “King’s Landing?  Casterly Rock?  Sansa won’t leave Winterfell.  She’s said so herself.”

“How are you going to explain to the Lady of Winterfell that she’s been demoted?” Tyrion asked mockingly.  “Remind your sisters of their duty and marry them off to eligible lords.”

“‘There must always be a Stark in Winterfell,’” Jon recited.

“The young Lord Stark will remain, of course.  I hear we have need of his abilities if they prove true.  Though I must say I find it difficult to believe,” Tyrion said. 

“Sansa and Arya stay until the Night King is dealt with,” Jon said with finality. 

He rose and stomped off to his tent.

* * *

**Tyrion**

Tyrion sighed.  In his own way he did care for Sansa, and he’d believed she’d at least thought highly of him during their short marriage.  He’d respected her boundaries and defended her honor against his deranged nephew.  While she was perfectly entitled to refuse him, he felt that she should be given that choice, not have it decided for her by her brother as others had decided her past marriages.  She would understand that he could give her a quiet life of safety and finery that a lady of her station deserved.

He made to go to his tent when a relative giant stood in his way. 

“Clegane,” he said.

“Imp,” said a gruff voice above him.

“Heel, Hound,” Tyrion said, sidestepping him. 

“Still trying to convince the brother before you talk to the girl, are ye?” the Hound said, easily keeping pace with him.

“Surely Jon Snow realizes the potential alliances that could be formed with his sisters’ marriages,” Tyrion said, matter of factly. 

“Is that all you bloody think about?” the Hound growled, “Alliances and strategy?”

“I’m the Queen’s Hand,” Tyrion said, “It’s my duty to ensure her interests.” 

“And it’s the pretty King’s duty to protect his sisters’ honor,” Clegane said.

“Well he did such a wonderful job when they were help captive in King’s Landing by my sister then running around with Littlefinger and yourself,” Tyrion said, arriving at his tent.

“Yeah?  And where were you?” Clegane asked, getting on his level.

“I did the best I could,” Tyrion huffed, “I didn’t see you standing up to my sister or nephew before you ran off.”

“We both failed her,” Clegane said, “What makes you think you deserve her now?” 

“I didn’t know you had an interest, Clegane,” Tyrion said, eyeing him. 

Clegane hesitated.  “Never said I did.  A frightened little bird doesn’t tempt me,” he grumbled.

Tyrion laughed.  “If you want to keep your position as her sworn shield, I suggest you have a quicker answer in front of her brother.”

“Watch yourself, Little Lord,” Clegane growled, “I hear she feeds her husbands to the dogs.”

* * *

**Sandor**  

He stomped off to his tent.  As he lay on his cot waiting for sleep to come, he pondered what had been discussed.

Surely there were more important things than marrying off the Stark girls.  The army of the dead and Cersei Lannister marched for Winterfell.  There were dragon glass weapons to forge and northmen to train.  At least it seemed like Jon Snow had his priorities in order, even if he was bedding the Targaryen.

The closer they got to Winterfell, the more the Little Bird invaded his thoughts.  It took all of his willpower to not take himself in hand.  She’d never settle for an old dog like him.  He had promised her brother he’d keep an eye on her, nothing more. 

But the thought of her rekindling her marriage with the Imp unnerved him.  Sure, he spoke fancy words and was well read and well bred, but Sandor had watched Sansa Stark for years as she grew from a girl to a young woman.  She’d gone to King’s Landing dreaming of princes and knights.  First Joffrey, then the foppish Knight of the Flowers.  Though he’d managed to show her that knights and princes were nothing like the stories she enjoyed so much.  Still, surely Lady Sansa had had enough of the simpering, scheming types like the Imp and Littlefinger. 

“Snap out of it, Clegane,” he growled to himself.

Sansa Stark was a lady, well-bred and accustomed to finery.  At best she would remember his attempts to protect her honor in King’s Landing and his willingness to go beyond the Wall on that fool’s mission with her brother.  At worst she was still frightened of him and would cast him out in the cold.  Or she remembered that night of the Battle of Blackwater Bay.  To think of himself ever being more than a sword to her was ridiculous.  If they managed to survive what was to come, she would marry some fancy lord, and he would sell his sword to the highest bidder.  Or perhaps if he managed to finish off Gregor, he’d sell off Clegane’s Keep and get himself a piece of land to live out his days in peace and quiet.

But whatever happened in the coming weeks and months, he was not expecting to get more than a passing glance from the Lady of Winterfell. 

* * *

 

**Sansa**

Sansa awoke in a cold sweat.  The faint light of dawn was peeking through her window.  Another nightmare.

As much as she tried to forget those horrible months with Ramsey, she revisited them every night.  It didn’t seem to matter if she slept in her own room or her mother’s chambers.  Each morning she awoke sweating, chilled, and aching as if she was still in his clutches.  Sometimes she was forced to relive his ministrations.  Other times it was Littlefinger whispering in her ear.  Sometimes she even watched her father’s beheading or Robb and her mother being slaughtered even though she hadn’t been there herself.

Sansa shook herself.  Today was an important day.  She needed to put the past aside and be ready for the return of Jon and the arrival of Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons. 

She dressed quickly and made her way down to the Great Hall to break her fast.  Somehow Arya and Bran were already at the table. 

“Good morning,” Sansa said warmly, trying to put on the mask of a lady.

“How did you sleep?” Arya asked, giving her a look.  It had been difficult to hide the times she’d awoken screaming.  And Arya was incredibly perceptive. 

“The nightmares continue,” Bran said flatly.

“Bran,” Sansa said shortly, “I ask you as my brother to not get into my head unless there is a great need of it.”

Though she’d spoken little of what had happened to her after their father died, Sansa knew that Bran had filled Arya in with some of the gaps.  He’d filled in the gaps in Arya’s story as well.  Though he called himself the Three-Eyed-Raven, Sansa wondered if her little brother was still in there somewhere. 

They continued to break their fast in silence until Samwell Tarly and his companion Gilly and her son Little Sam entered. 

“Now that we’re all gathered,” Sansa said formally, “Jon arrives home today with Daenerys Targaryen.  Let’s put our best foot forward to welcome the King in the North home with our new ally.”

“Lady Stark,” Sam said timidly, “I have asked Jon to look in on myself and Bran once he’s settled.  I think it’s important that you and Lady Arya be there as well.”

Arya snorted.  “For the last time, Sam, I’m not a Lady.”

Sansa sighed.  “I won’t force you to wear a gown today, sister, but please try to act the part of being the King’s sister.”

“Jon won’t recognize me if I’m acting like a lady,” she scowled, reminding Sansa of the 11-year-old who’d thrown food at her the last time a king had visited Winterfell.

“I cannot imagine that Jon wouldn’t recognize his own sister,” Sansa said, giving her sister a reassuring touch on the hand.  “Maester Samwell, we will come to your meeting.”

After paying her compliments to her family and guests, Sansa rose from the table to see that everything was prepared for Jon’s return.  She asked the servants to prepare baths for the travelers once the scouts spotted them.  Jon’s chambers appeared to be in order, simple as they were.  He was a true soldier with his desire for minimalism. 

Ghost eyed her with his strange red eyes as she looked around.  “Good boy,” she said, scratching his ear.  While Jon had been away, Ghost sometimes followed her around, but often he was found curled up on Jon’s bed waiting for his master to return.

The guest chambers all seemed to be in order.  The largest chambers were of course prepared for a queen with the best furs and accoutrements in Winterfell.  Sansa wasn’t sure what Daenerys Targaryen would expect, but she faintly recalled her mother preparing chambers for another king and queen a lifetime ago. 

It was easier with Lord Tyrion’s chambers.  She ensured there were candles, books from the Winterfell library, and stools for the bed and washstand.  Though they had only been married a short time, she was somewhat familiar with his habits. 

She ensured that other guest chambers and the courtier and servants’ quarters were all in order with fires burning and furs and blankets on the beds.  She wasn’t entirely sure how many traveled with Jon and would be expecting domicile within Winterfell itself.  Daenerys’ armies would camp outside the gates with plenty of fires and woolen blankets.  The bannermen would be in the barracks. 

There was a makeshift paddock outside the walls for the dragons, though Sansa had been warned they may not stay within it.  Sansa had sent out ravens to the farmers around Winterfell to keep a close watch on their livestock.

As midday approached, she heard the horns of the scouts alerting them of travelers.  Sansa hurried to the courtyard and steeled herself for a royal visit.  Arya rolled Bran out, and they stood in a line just has they had done years ago.  Sansa felt the missing presence of Robb, Rickon, their parents, and so many others who had been there that day so many years ago. 

Sam and Gilly joined them along with other members of the Stark household as it currently was.  They were ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said we'd get to the actual arrival of Jon & co at Winterfell. We're almost there! I need to decide whose POV I want to use for that. Suggestions are welcome! Read, review, and subscribe!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reunions and meetings galore!! Long chapter ahead, so prepare yourselves, faithful readers!

** Chapter 4 **

**Arya**

The moment between the scouts sounding their horns and the opening of the gates was killing her.  It had been years since a different king had rode through those gates and changed their lives forever.  Would Jon even recognize her?  She’d changed so much.  Seen so much.  Done things he couldn’t have imagined of her.  _Stick ‘em with the pointy end_ , he’d said.  She’d done far more than that.

She could feel Sansa’s tension beside her, the apprehension behind the mask of a highborn lady.  Arya had her faces, and Sansa had her masks.  Ice cold decorum must have been all that protected her in King’s Landing and everything that had happened since. 

But what could Sansa be worried about, other than the obvious threats to the North and South?  She’d already seen Jon, spent time with him winning back their home.  Was it the Dragon Queen?  Sansa had put everything she had into winning back the North.  If Jon bent the knee to a foreign queen…  Everything their parents, brothers, and bannermen had died for would be for nothing. 

As the gates creaked open, Arya reached out and squeezed Sansa’s hand.

As Jon rode through the gates, Sansa knelt, and all of Winterfell followed her lead.  Arya snuck a peak and saw several men on horseback.  No one she recognized on first glance. 

Arya saw Jon scan the crowd and approach.  Before he reached them, she bolted up and went running for him.  For some reason he started reaching for his sword…

“NO!” she heard Sansa scream behind her.

Jon’s gray eyes locked with Arya’s as she lept into his arms and hugged him.  He staggered back and looked into her face.

Recognition dawned on him.  “Arya?” he asked.

She nodded, hiding her face in his chest and sobbing.  All the tears she’d been holding back came at once.  For their father.  Robb.  Her mother.  Rickon.

She felt Jon walking as her toes dragged on the ground.  Another pair of arms that she knew to be Sansa held them all together.  A hand on her leg might have been Bran.

“The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” Sansa recited, holding her siblings.

A roar somewhere overhead ended the family moment.

They were beautiful, Arya thought.  One was huge and black, red tints glinting in the winter sun.  Astride him, a women with long flowing silver hair.  A second dragon followed behind the first, green and lithe.  They flew over the keep and disappeared in the open fields outside the walls.

“Weren’t there rumored to be three?” Arya asked Jon, letting go of him but staying close. 

Jon closed his eyes for a moment, looking almost pained.  “There is much to discuss,” he sighed. 

“Indeed,” Bran said stiffly.  “Jon, there is something Samwell and I must speak with you about.  Urgently.”

Jon gave Bran a proper hug in that moment.  All Bran could do was stare at nothing and pat his back.

“Bran?” Jon asked, looking at him carefully.

“Another time,” Bran said, seconds before the scouts sounded their horns again.

The remaining Stark children rearranged themselves in their line.  Jon stood to the side ready to welcome the newcomers.

* * *

 

**Sansa**

In the seconds before the Dragon Queen’s retinue rode through the open gates, Sansa chanced a glance at the group who had accompanied Jon.  She recognized Ser Davos among them and noted a muscular young man with dark black hair who looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him.  Then…

It was as if all of the breath in her lungs escaped. 

_It was him.  He was here.  At Winterfell._

“HOUND!” she heard Arya beside her.

What was Sandor Clegane doing at Winterfell with their brother?

He turned and looked around to see who had called his moniker but was interrupted by the party gathering in front of the Starks.

How had Sansa missed her astride a dapple gray mare?

Daenerys Targaryen slide out of her saddle effortlessly and approached.

Another face that Sansa had never expected to see again strode up behind the queen with his small chest puffed out.

Tyrion Lannister spoke, “Presenting Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the _First Men_ , Lady of the _Seven Kingdoms_ and Protector of the Realm, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of Meereen, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons.”

A few of the household made to kneel but stayed upright when Sansa did not.

Daenerys Targaryen pierced her with violet eyes.

Tyrion cleared his throat.

Jon approached the Dragon Queen, took her arm, and brought her closer.

“Your grace, my sisters Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell, and Lady Arya, and my brother, Brandon Stark,” he said, eyeing each of them as he said their names.

Sansa nodded in acknowledgement.  “Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.”  She looked at Jon. 

“Thank you, Lady Stark,” Daenerys said, “I hope my children did not frighten you.”

“Lady Stark was my mother,” Sansa said coolly, “And we do not startle so easily in the North.” 

“Lady Sansa, would you be so kind as to show us to our chambers?  It has been a long journey,” Tyrion put in.

“Of course, my lord, I look forward to hearing your tales over a meal after you are settled,” Sansa said.

She was followed into the guest quarters by the queen, Tyrion, a tall sandy-haired man dressed in a strange combination of northern furs and eastern armor, a tall dusky skinned woman who had been riding in a cart with a bald-headed robed man Sansa recalled as Lord Varys, the Spider.  She would find out what he was doing away from King’s Landing another time, but duty called.  Silent soldiers in spiked helmets followed them. 

_Damn him_ , she thought.  Tyrion was asking her to quarter these strangers in her home without proper introductions.  Jon and Arya had disappeared with Sam, and she was left alone with their guests.  Ser Davos had remained with Jon’s men, likely getting them quartered and the horses stabled. 

Of course, Tyrion was doing his duty to his queen.  He had no idea the horrors she had suffered since he had last seen her, in her own home no less.  She would ask Jon later.

The sandy-haired man approached her.  She stiffened. 

“Apologies, my lady,” he said in a northern accent.  I am Jorah Mormont, her grace’s shield, and this is Missandei, her Grace’s confidante.  Lord Varys tells me he knows you from King’s Landing.”

“Mormont?” she asked, looking at him.  Yes, his face was familiar.  It had been years, but she recalled feasts in the Great Hall with her father’s bannermen when she was younger.

“Jorah Mormont, my lady, formerly of Bear Island,” he said.

She let out a breath she hadn’t noticed she’d been holding in.

“Ser Jorah Mormont,” she confirmed.  “My lord father ordered your execution.”

“Indeed he did,” Ser Jorah replied. 

“I am glad his hand was stayed,” Queen Daenerys put in.  “You have been a most loyal advisor.”

A pained look passed over Ser Jorah’s face and was gone in an instant.

“Have no fear, Your Grace,” Sansa said.  “We have a saying in the North that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.  My father is dead.”

“I am sorry for that, my lady,” Ser Jorah said.  “Ned Stark was a good man.”

“He was the best of men,” she said quietly as they approached the guest tower and ascended. 

Chambers fit for a royal were at the top.  At each level, Daenerys bid her courtier enter and settle themselves until Sansa was alone with her.  The Unsullied soldiers were guarding the base of the tower.  Sansa opened the door. 

“A word before you go, Lady Sansa.  Won’t you join me?” Daenerys stepped through the door.

“Of course,” Sansa said.

The Dragon Queen settled herself in a chair by the fire and offered a hand for Sansa to join her. 

“I can see that your brother did not share the terms of our alliance,” the queen said slowly. 

“He did not, Your Grace,” Sansa said, staring into the flames.

“Lord Snow has bent the knee.  As a token of my gratitude, I have brought dragon glass, half my forces, and my dragons to the North,” the queen said stiffly. 

“The King in the North gained his seat with the support of the northern houses,” Sansa said, looking into those violet eyes.  “He is not a Stark and does not rule in his own right.” 

“So he lied to me,” Daenerys said, eyes burning. 

“No, Your Grace,” Sansa said, willing the wolf within her, “I’m sure my brother did what he thought was best for his people.  You must know that we face impossible odds.  Westeros must band together, or we all die.” 

Daenerys looked her in the eye.  “Would you have knelt?” she asked.

 “Would you?” Sansa asked in return.

* * *

 

**Arya**

Instead of following Bran and Jon, Arya held back in the courtyard.  She had no interest in more gloom and doom about what was happening at Eastwatch or concerning the Night King.  All they could do was wait, she thought. 

The Hound was removing saddlebags from Stranger and handing them off to a stable boy to be taken to his room. 

“Hound!” she shouted again.

This time he saw her.

“So you made it home on your own, she-wolf,” he growled, taking Stranger by the reins.

She followed him to the stables.  “I left you for dead.”

“Aye, you did.”

“So why aren’t you dead?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he sighed, looking at her.  “Am I still on your godsdamn list?”

She paused for a moment.  “No,” she said finally. 

“What about my brother?” he asked.

“Yes,” she didn’t hesitate.

“Good,” he said, “He’s an ugly fucker these days.  Who else?”

“Cersei, Ilyn Payne, Thoros of Myr, Beric Dondarrion, and the Red Woman,” she said, emphasizing each name.

“Too late for Thoros.  He died beyond the Wall,” the Hound replied.  “Beric might be dead for all I know.  We left him at Eastwatch.”

“What were they doing with you?” she rounded on him. 

“Catching the wight your brother wanted to present to Cersei,” he spat.

“What happened?” she asked.

He shuddered.  “Another time, girl.”

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“Maybe I’m tired of killing the living,” he scowled.

“Lie,” she said.  “Why are you really here?” 

“I could ask the same of you,” he chuckled.  “Thought you wanted to go to Braavos and practice your stupid water dancing.”

“It’s not stupid,” she said, drawing Needle and twirling it. 

He grabbed Needle by the blade and tossed it into the dirt.  “Yes, it is.  Your sewing needle is no match for what’s coming.”

She grabbed his sword arm and drew the Valyrian steal dagger and put it to his throat.  “Maybe, but this isn’t.”

He reached up with his left hand and took the dagger from her.  Examining it a moment he said, “Keep this close.”

“I will,” she said, taking the dagger back and picking up Needle.  “Why are you here?”

“The Brotherhood saw what was coming and went to Eastwatch,” he said.  “We barely made it out alive.  Took the fucker to King’s Landing.  Cersei won’t stand down.  Bitch.  The Imp commented about your sister’s widowhood, and your brother asked me to look after you two until Brienne of fucking Tarth returns.”

“I can look after myself,” she said.

“You’re a Stark of Winterfell and currently unmarried,” he said, looking down at her. 

“The Imp will have to catch me if he wants to marry me,” she said before turning and running off.

* * *

 

**Sandor**

“Let’s hope you and the Little Bird are quick enough,” he sighed. 

Seeing Stranger settled, he left the stables and made his way to where he remembered the men-at-arms were quartered.  Some Northern whelp showed him to his room.  It was sparse but comfortable, as he remembered from the last time he had been there.  He dumped the few contents of his saddlebags into the trunk and set to work removing his heavy armor, battered as it was, the Hound helmet long since lost.  He’d have to seek out the Winterfell outfitter.  It was either the light leather armor he’d absconded from Dragonstone or the wilding rags he’d worn beyond the Wall. 

After a surprisingly relaxing bath in the Winterfell baths fed by hot springs, he returned to his room.  Laid out on the bed was the dark brown, almost black leather jerkin of the Starks, a woolen cloak with a thick fur collar, and several pairs of tunics and britches. 

_Had she known he could come?_  

“Codswallop,” he said to himself.  Ser Davos was simply ensuring that the men were provided for.  

On closer examination of the cloak, a long strand of red hair went tumbling to the floor.  She had come and gone without a word. 

She must have been surprised to see him, or she wouldn’t have flown off so quickly.  The she-wolf and the Tarth bitch had assumed him dead.  They must have told her. 

He shook himself like a dog waking from a nap.  If the stories were true, she’d finally broken, damaged by the Lannister cunts and her bastard husband.  He hadn’t been there when she needed him. 

But he was here now.  He was man enough to shut down his feelings as he had for years, but he wouldn’t allow the Imp to damage her further.

* * *

 

**Sansa**

She’d survived an encounter with the Dragon Queen unburnt.  Now to be burned by another. 

Letting out a breath, she descended the tower and returned to the courtyard.  He was no longer there, and his horse was safely stabled with no sign of him.  She approached the quarters for the men-at-arms.  A boy pointed her to his room.  She knocked.

No answer, and no sounds of movement within. 

She peaked around.  The battered black armor carefully placed on the dummy.  Sparse contents of saddlebags tossed into a trunk.  She quickly left and closed the door. 

She didn’t know what lead her to the Winterfell quartermaster.  She combed through shelves and crates.  Her well-trained seamstress’s eye selected a few items that would suffice.  He wouldn’t be wearing rags in her home. 

Quickly, she returned to his room and laid out the items and left as quickly as she had come. 

Davos approached her in the corridor.

“Mi’lady?” he asked, his eyes studying her face. 

“Ser Davos,” she said, putting the mask of the Lady of Winterfell back on.  “Please ensure that the men who went beyond the Wall are well provided for.”

“Of course, mi’lady,” he nodded, giving her a last look before continuing on his way. 

She flew off before he discovered her.  She wasn’t ready to talk to him.  Not yet.

* * *

 

**Jon**

His thoughts were racing.  It felt like he’d been stabbed all over again.

_Eddard Stark is not your father_ , Bran had said. 

_His aunt Lyanna hadn’t been kidnapped by Rhaegar,_ Sam had said _._

_She wasn’t even his aunt._

_Mother._

_Ned and Catelyn’s Nephew._

_Targaryen._

_King._

Her _nephew._

His entire world was tilting.  All those years he’d been the bastard of Winterfell.  Lady Stark had scowled and cursed at his back his entire life.  Even Sansa had limited her affection for him until, she’d shown up at Castle Black soaking wet and broken.  His “father” had kept his distance for fear of further injuring his lady wife.  She’d been so worried he’d challenge Robb.  _Never_ , he reminded himself.  He knew his place.  He loved Robb, but he’d been a constant reminder of what he could never be in Ned Stark’s eyes.  Bran and Rickon had loved them the same. 

Arya… they’d always been close.  She looked so much like him.  She’d worried she was a bastard herself until he assured her otherwise.  How could she be?  He was there the day she was born. 

But Lady Stark had never let him forget that he wasn’t one of her own.  She took it personally that only Arya had the Stark look. 

What would he tell his sisters—cousins? 

Or Daenerys?  He’d bedded her.  His _aunt._   He knew marrying family was the Targaryen way.  But he’d grown up in the North.  He would have to speak with her.  

_Her throne._

_Her armies._

_Her dragons._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it! I apologize for any glaring continuity errors. I'm writing this free flowing without a real plan yet other than fluff & smut down the road. I'm trying my best to get a story going, but I'm dreading dealing with all the gloom and doom. Trust me, I want them to throw themselves at each other as much as you! Patiences, friends.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! It's been a crazy week. This chapter is a bit shorter than the last, but I wanted to focus on the main reunion. Enjoy!

** Chapter 5 **

**Sansa**

The evening meal in the great hall of Winterfell passed quietly.  Jon did not make an appearance.  Samwell Tarly said the King in the North was worn out from his journey and was resting.  He requested that Sansa and Arya break their fast in the Lord’s solar on the morrow.

Lord Tyrion begged a seat beside Sansa and attempted to engage her in conversation. 

“You look well, my lady,” he said, leaning in.

“And you, my lord.  I am glad you came to no harm after your nephew’s wedding,” she said, keeping her eyes on her plate. 

“I was sorry to receive your request for an annulment,” he said.

“It was not my doing,” she replied, finally returning his gaze.

“Why did you ever let Littlefinger sell you to the Boltons, my dear?” he asked, a look of concern on his scarred face.

“It was a way out,” she said, returning to her plate.

He sighed.  “That I understand, Lady Sansa.  My sister wanted your head as much as mine.  I couldn’t have saved you.”  The pain on his face was clear.

He paused before continuing.  “And what will you do now that you have returned home and restored House Stark to Winterfell?”

She gave him her calmest, icy Lady of Winterfell look.  “See my people through the Winter and await your sister’s armies.”

“No plans for marriage?  An heir?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“No,” she said firmly.

“A lady, even one such as yourself, cannot hold Winterfell.  Your brother may fall in battle or follow my Queen to King’s Landing.  How can you ensure there will ‘always be a Stark in Winterfell?  Your bannermen won’t wait for long,’” he said.

“Jon won’t leave Winterfell,” she said with finality.  “If you will excuse me, my lord, I would go to the godswood before retiring.” 

“Allow me to accompany you, my lady,” he said, standing with her.

“I thank you, my lord, but I would go alone in my own keep,” she said.

As she made her apologies to her sister and the Dragon Queen, she noted gray eyes watching her from beneath a curtain of dark hair hidden among the men.  As she left the great hall, she thought she spotted him getting up to follow her. 

* * *

 

**Sandor**

Even with his one burned ear, his doglike hearing was good enough to catch bits of what the Imp had been telling her.  The boy Gendry had been trying to engage him, but all he could do was eavesdrop on the Little Bird. 

He watched her as she left the great hall and got up to follow her.  Somehow, he knew she wanted him to follow her. 

The halls of Winterfell were quiet outside of the din from the great hall.  He was able to follow the sound of her footsteps and the swish of her skirts to the godswood.

As he entered the godswood, she was standing under the weirwood tree with her back to him. 

“I knew you would come,” she said calmly, turning to him.

“To Winterfell or to your godswood?” he asked, approaching her.

“The godswood,” she said, looking up at him as he stood before her.  “I had no idea you were alive until you rode through my gates today.”

“Your sister tell you what happened?  Or the Tarth woman?” he asked, gazing into her deep blue eyes.  Gods, she was beautiful.

“Both,” she answered.  “Brienne believed you had fallen in battle.  Arya told me she left you for dead.” 

“I was as good as,” he said.  “The Hound is dead.”

“Then who stands before me?” she asked?

“A man who would see you come to no harm while strangers are within your walls, my lady,” he said, kneeling before her.

“Are you swearing yourself to me,” she asked, surprised.  “I thought you were no knight.”

“No swearing or oaths.  You have my word alone.”  He wouldn’t return her gaze.

“Jon asked you,” she said.

“Aye, he did,” he said, finally looking at her.

She frowned.  “I thank you, _Ser_ , but I can look after myself.”  She picked up her skirts and made to leave.

He stood and grabbed her elbow before she could walk away.  “I know that, Little Bird,” he growled.  “I heard what you did to the Bolton bastard.”

She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and gave him an icy look.  “Then perhaps you know why I cannot have you following me night and day.”

“All these years, and you’re still frightened of me,” he growled, attempting to mask the pain he felt at her words.  “It’s the Imp you should be concerned with.”

“Lord Tyrion never hurt me,” she said, turning back to him.

“Nor did I,” he said quietly.

“Perhaps you remember the Blackwater differently than I do,” she spat before turning on her heel and returning to the keep. 

He stood frozen to the spot watching her leave. 

The Blackwater?  He recalled how fear of the wildfire and too much drink had taken him to her chambers.  The drink had clouded his memories, but he vaguely recalled her entering to find him on her bed.  He’d held a knife to her throat and demanded a “song”.  She’d sung him the Mother’s Hymn which was not at all what he had meant.  When he came to his senses, he saw a frightened girl who’d seen just 14 name days.  At that point he remembered telling her he was leaving and asking her to go with him.  She’d refused, so he left her chambers, gathered his belongings, saddled Stranger, and rode north on the King’s Road.

Did she remember something different?

Still, he was determined that she should come to no harm in her own keep.

* * *

**Sansa**

_Nor did I_ , he had said.

She glanced behind her to be sure he wasn’t following as she made her way to her chambers.  He wasn’t.

She thought back to that night.  She’d come back to her chambers with the intent of waiting for Stannis to capture the city.  Once he took the Red Keep she would give herself up and hope that he let her return to her family. 

Instead of finding empty chambers, she found the Hound sprawled on her bed, drunk and covered in blood.  He’d held a knife to her throat and demanded a song.  Knowing he could have taken more, she’d sung the Mother’s Hymn.  He’d told her he was leaving and asked if she would go with him.  He would take her back to her mother.  She’d refused.  He’d taken a kiss and left his bloodied Kingsguard cloak. 

That cloak was still buried in the bottom of her trunk.  

Had she misremembered that kiss?  She’d received a few kisses over the years.  Joffrey had been all sweetness but held no warmth.  Littlefinger had been rough.  All take and no give.  He’d been searching for heat that wasn’t there.  Ramsay was cold and sharp.  He’d never kissed her lips, preferring to leave his “mark” elsewhere.  She shuddered at the memory.  

The Hound’s kiss?  She found that she didn’t remember what it felt like to kiss his scarred, bearded lips.  She remembered his drunken breath and the cold knife on her neck, the way he’d stared at her, but that was all.

She nodded to the guard as she entered her chambers.  Jon had insisted on at guard at her door with all the men about the keep.  She didn’t see the point as she was the Lady of Winterfell and had seen all the Bolton men executed or run off.  The men at Winterfell now were all loyal to her.  A few had carried over from her father’s day.  They had looked out for her when she had returned.  The rest were boys from the surrounding area and free folk loyal to Jon. 

She changed into her nightshift and settled under the furs but knew that sleep would not come.  Most nights she lay awake as long as possible to keep the nightmares at bay. 

After a while she heard heavy footsteps in the corridor outside her door.

“This corridor is off limits, ser,” she heard the guard say.

“Not a ser,” she heard him growl.  “Just checking that the Lady is within and not still about.”

“She is, mi’lord,” she heard the boy say.  “She asked to not be disturbed.”

“Fair enough.  Go get some rest.  I’ll take over from,” he growled.

“I cannot leave unless her lady relieves me herself,” the boy said.

“I have orders from the King in the North, so unless you want to lose your head, I suggest you run along now,” he growled.

“Y—yes, mi’lord!” she heard the boy cry.  His hurried footsteps retreated down the corridor.

Sansa was frightened now.  He’d sent off her guard and was right outside her door.  She recalled the back door to the servant’s steps.  If he stormed in, she would only have seconds to escape.

But he never came.  She lay awake for hours.  Occasionally he would cough or grunt, but that was all she heard from him. 

Sometime around the Hour of the Wolf, she heard another guard approach.  They exchanged a few words, and she heard him leave. 

Finally sleep took her.  The nightmares returned with full force.  Only this time it seemed that she was reliving events as they had really happened.

_They were on the King’s Road in the royal caravan.  She was walking Lady when she happened upon Ilyn Payne, the King’s Justice.  The Hound appeared and asked if Ser Ilyn frightened her.  He told her he frightened him too._

_Joffrey was taunting her with her father’s head on a spike.  Meryn Trant hit her.  She made to push Joffrey off the wall when the Hound stopped her.  He handed her a handkerchief and said she’d be needing more._

_She was on the Throne Room before Joffrey, being beaten for another of Robb’s victories.  Meryn Trant was tearing at her gown and hitting her with his sword.  Lord Tyrion ordered the beating to stop, and the Hound tore off his Kingsguard cloak and wrapped her in it._

_They were down in the city when the riots started.  Joffrey left her behind.  Hungry men crowded around her, likely thinking of raping her.  The Hound appeared and sent them scurrying.  He scooped her up and took her back to the Red Keep._

_She went to thank him for saving her during the riots.  He threw it back in her face.  She didn’t like his hateful speech.  He told her she’d appreciate the hateful things he did when he was all that stood between her and Joffrey._

_He was in her chambers the night of the Blackwater.  She gave him the Mother’s Hymn at knifepoint.  He told her he was leaving and asked her to go with him.  She refused.  He left._

_He left._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, no smut yet! Sansa isn't ready to throw herself into his arms. She needs time after all she's been through. Bear with her and me!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Jon and Dany talk, and another long-awaited reunion!!

** Chapter 6 **

**Jon**

It had been hours since his conversation with Sam and Bran.  After finally agreeing to talk to his sisters the next day, they had left him alone with his thoughts.  He ate his evening meal alone in his chambers.  Aside from eating, he sat at his desk or lay on his bed staring at nothing.

Just as he was about to stir and ready for sleep that wouldn’t come, a knock came at the door. 

“Yes?” he called in answer.

“Queen Daenerys to see you milord,” the guard said.

It would do no good to delay the inevitable.  Surely at this hour she came alone.  He had wanted to talk to Sansa first, but that was a better conversation to have in daylight.  Now he needed to talk to Dany, his lover, and not Queen Daenerys.  He only hoped that the former had come to his door and not the later.

He opened the door.  She stood before him with her trusted Unsullied, Gray Worm a step behind her.

“May I come in, My Lord?  Alone?” she asked.

“Of course, Your Grace,” he said, stepping aside to allow her to enter past him. 

Grey Worm did not follow, simply taking up sentry opposite his own guard.

Dany sat on the bed and patted the spot next to her.  “I missed you at the evening meal,” she said, a look of worry on her face.  “Are you alright?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he said, sitting beside her.

She put a hand to his cheek and forced him to look at her.  “What is it, my love?” she asked.

Jon studied her face.  The look of concern.  Her violet eyes.  The way her eyebrows knit together in the middle.  He took a deep breath and steeled himself.

“I talked with my brothers, Bran and Sam,” he said slowly.

“Sam?” she asked. 

“My brother from the Knight’s Watch,” he replied.  “I’d sent him to Old Town to study with the maesters when I was still Lord Commander.  He wrote to me about the dragon glass on Dragonstone.”

“So why is he in Winterfell?” she asked.

“He found that the maesters weren’t inclined to help us, so he gathered what he needed and left,” Jon replied.

“What are we up against?” she asked, setting aside her concern for the air of a queen.

“It’s not the war that is on my mind,” Jon said, taking her hands in his.

“Then what is it?” Dany asked, the look of concern returning.

Jon sighed and looked into those violet eyes.  “I know who my parents are,” he said firmly.

“Your mother?  Well that’s good news,” she smiled. 

“My mother,” he paused, “and my father.”

“You told me,” she said, “Ned Stark was your father.”

“No,” he stood and walked to the window.  “He wasn’t.”

“But I met your sister, Arya,” Daenerys said, following him.  “The resemblance is there.”

“Arya, Sansa, Bran, all of them,” he looked at her.  “They’re my cousins.  Eddard Stark was my uncle.”

“Then who…?” Dany began.  Jon held up a hand to quiet her.

“I am a Stark, but not by my father,” he said slowly.  “My mother was Lyanna Stark, his sister.”

Dany blinked.  Lyanna Stark.  The woman Viserys had said their brother Rhaegar had fallen for and destroyed his marriage and the Kingdoms to be with. 

“…and your father?” she asked, knowing the answer.

Jon took her hands again, not daring to look at her in that moment.  “Rhaegar Targaryen,” he breathed.  “Your brother.”

“So you are not Jon Snow,” she said, squeezing his hands.  “Jon Blackfyre.”

“No,” he said, walking away from her again.  “Jon was the name Eddard gave me.”

“How could you know the name Lyanna gave you?” she asked.  “Rhaegar was dead before you were born.”

“Bran told me,” he said.

“How could he possibly know?  Is it recorded here at Winterfell?” she asked, following him to the bed.

“I told you about Bran’s accident before I went to the Wall,” he said.

Dany nodded that she remembered.

“While I was away, Bran started having dreams.  He went beyond the Wall with Howland Reed’s children and came back with certain… abilities,” Jon said.  “He saw Eastwatch fall.”

“What does that have to do with your name?” she asked.

“He looked back,” Jon said before continuing.  “When Sam was in Old Town, he was reading through an old septon’s private diary.  He’d performed an annulment of Rhaegar’s marriage to Elia Martell and a subsequent wedding to Lyanna.”

Dany audibly gasped but said nothing.

Jon continued.  “Bran looked back and saw Eddard at the Tower of Joy in Dorne.  Lyanna was dying in childbed.  She begged her brother to take her son and keep him safe from Robert Baratheon.”

“That was you,” Dany breathed.

“Aye,” Jon said, taking her hands again.  “My real name is Aegon Targaryen.  I am the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.”

Daenerys sat on the bed, frozen.  All she could say was, “But…”

“Daenerys,” Jon said hurriedly, “This changes nothing.  I don’t want the Iron Throne.  I promise that when we face Cersei, I will be your ally, but I won’t stand in your way.”

* * *

 

**Daenerys**

Dany’s thoughts were racing. 

_Jon isn’t a Stark._

_He’s Rhaegar’s son._

_The heir to the Iron Throne._

_My nephew._

_My blood._  

She took his face in her hands and kissed him.  She could feel the surprise in his lips.  He pushed her shoulders back.

“Daenerys,” he said, a look of confusion on his face.  “Rhaegar was your brother.  I’m your nephew.”

“And?” she asked, putting a hand on his chest.  “My ancestors—our ancestors—wedded brothers and sisters for centuries.  My parents were brother and sister.  Why should we let shared blood stop us?  We will take the Iron Throne and rule together.  It’s your birthright.”

“I grew up here,” he said, standing.  “In the North.  We don’t see things the way you do.”

“Will your northern lords accept you once you tell them your parentage?” she asked.  “They follow Ned Stark’s bastard son.”

“I can’t tell them,” he said firmly.  “I’ll not start arguments about parentage now that Winter is here and we face wars on two fronts.”

“What will you do?” she asked, closing the gap between them. 

“I have to tell my sisters,” he said.

“What if they don’t accept you?” she asked, taking his hands.

“They will,” he said.  “Arya will, at least.  Sansa…”

“You saved her life, did you not?” Dany said.  “Fought a battle for your home and her honor.” 

“I did,” he said.

“Your loyalty to the North is proven one thousand times over,” Dany said.  “Either you trust her to follow you still, or you don’t.”

Jon sighed and held her close.

Dany continued.  “If Sansa is truly the Lady of Winterfell, she won’t jeopardize your bannermen now.”

She paused, relishing in his warmth.  “Will you allow me to stay, or should I leave you with your thoughts?” she asked.

“Dany—” he hesitated.  “I—I can’t.  I need time.”

She stepped back from him, assuming a regal air.  “Don’t keep me waiting, Aegon Targaryen.  We have wars to fight. 

She turned and walked to the door.  He opened it for her.

“Good night, Lord Snow,” she said, turning back to him.

“Good night, Your Grace,” he said, avoiding her eyes.

She nodded to Grey Worm and returned to her own chambers.

* * *

**Arya**

Arya was one of the last to leave the great hall, not being overly concerned with past or future love or the coming wars.  She ensured that Sam would get Bran back to his chambers before retiring himself, bid her brother good night, and left the great hall for her own bed. 

“Am I so below your notice that you won’t say hello, milady?” a voice called as she entered the corridor.

She froze.  She knew that voice.  She turned and looked.

It was difficult to see in the dim torchlight, but it was him.  He was taller now, and broader.  Boyish peach fuzz had been replaced by stubble.  His hair was cropped shorter.  But it was him. 

“Gendry…?” she asked tentatively.

“Aye, milady,” he said, “I’ve come back to you.”

She closed the gap between them and grabbed him around the middle.  Hot tears she’d buried deep came pouring out, soaking his tunic.

“I—I thought I lost you!” she sobbed.

“Sh, shh, don’t cry now,” he said gently, embracing her.  “That wouldn’t be ladylike,” he japed. 

She stomped on his toe.  “Still not a lady,” she said fiercely.  “Why are you in Winterfell?”

“Davos,” he croaked, rubbing his foot.  “He found me at the forge in King’s Landing.  Said he needed my help.  I’d been waiting for the opportunity.  Met your brother at the Wall, and we captured a wight.  The whole dead army showed up.  I ran all the way back to Eastwatch and got the Targaryen woman to rescue them with her dragons.  They sailed for King’s Landing, and I started mining and forging dragon glass.  When they came back to Dragonstone, I came to start forging here.”

As he talked about recent events and all that had happened since they had parted, she had started walking back to her chambers.

“What about you?” he asked.  “You got home.”

“That’s a long story,” she said.

“Better now than never,” he said.

At that moment, they got to her chamber door.  She invited him in, not even concerned about his sex.  He was her friend.  They sat before the fire, and she launched into her tale from the time he had left until she had returned to Winterfell.  He gasped and laughed at all the right moments.  She held nothing back.  Not like she had with Sansa. 

Finally she said, “I thought about you.  Everyday.”

“And I you,” he said, returning her gaze.

Until that moment, Arya had been talking to Gendry.  Her best friend.  But something about him was… different.  He was older.  She was older.  Having been deprived of a septa and her mother during the crucial years leading up to her coming of age, Arya was unsure how to proceed. 

“Gendry…” she hesitated. 

“Arya,” he replied, leaning toward her.  “We’re not children anymore.”

“No, but…  There are wars to fight.  I still have people on my list.  You have dragon glass to forge,” she said, trying to look serious.

She stood and moved to the wall.  She pushed a bookshelf aside to reveal the spaces where she had carefully removed the stone bricks.  Her faces with their empty eye sockets stared back at her.  Meryn Trant.  A girl.  Walder Frey.  Littlefinger.

A look of shock spread across Gendry’s face, but he said nothing.  She’d already told him what she’d done.  Now here was the proof.

“They killed your family,” he said finally, “They deserved what they got.”

“Maybe,” she said, “I still deprived them of King’s justice.”

“As the King’s son, I forgive you,” he smiled.

“Hold on,” Arya said, looking at him.  “The King’s son?”

“That’s why the Red Woman came for me,” he said.  “She wanted to get my blood for Lord Stannis.  I’m King Robert’s bastard.”

“So you’re not my family,” Arya said, staring at him.  “You’re ‘Your Grace.’”

“No, no,” he said, laughing.  “I don’t want any of that.  It almost got me killed once.  Can you imagine what Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons would do to me?”

“But the Iron Throne is yours,” she said, taking his hands in hers.  “You’re more Baratheon than Joffrey ever was.”

“Who’s left to legitimize me?” he asked.  “Only you, Ser Davos, Jon, and Beric know.”

“Jon would,” she said, “I know he would.  Our fathers were friends.”

“He already knelt for Daenerys,” Gendry said, standing in front of her.

“I’ll talk to him,” she said, “He’ll listen to me.  We’ll—”

He silenced her with a kiss. 

In that moment, all thought of thrones, lists, and faces dissipated. 

Arya was hesitant about what to do.  She’d conveniently ignored all of her mother and Septa Mordane’s talk of what men and women did.

Gendry wrapped strong arms around her and held her close.  His lips softened after the initial burst of passion, and she let him continue.  His tongue probed at her lips, and she allowed him to explore further.  Her arms found their way around him.

They stood there exploring each other’s mouths until he finally broke the spell.

“Shall we continue, milady?” he asked smiling, “Or should I leave you to your beauty sleep?”

She scowled at him as she came to her senses.  “It would be unseemly if my sister or brother were to find you here on the morrow, Your Grace.”

He returned her scowl before breaking into a smile.  “Until tomorrow then.”

“Until tomorrow,” she replied.

He left her alone with her thoughts and her faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your bone, Gendrya fans! I didn't think I would explore that ship, but it felt right to resolve that before Jon talks to his sister-cousins. Not to worry, SanSan fans, they are still my priority! Arya and Gendry don't have nearly the amount of baggage standing in the way, and this story needed a moment of passion to keep things going. Enjoy and review!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long weekend and the snow where I'm at are helping to push this story along. SanSan fans, your long wait is about to pay off! Enjoy!

** Chapter 7 **

**Sansa**

Sansa woke with the morning light as always, though she found that the nature of her dreams that night hadn’t left her with the same exhaustion she had come to expect. 

She wasn’t sure what to make of the Hound or his promise.  Joffrey’s former lap dog was in her home and serving at her brother’s side.  She had come to trust him despite his callous remarks during her time in the Red Keep.  While the other Kingsguards had gladly joined in her torment, he had not.  But that night of the Blackwater…

Sansa thought no more of it as a maid entered with a tray of messages and to help her dress.  There were several replies from the northern lords agreeing to send forces to Winterfell.  House Reed agreed to double their efforts of slowing any attacks from the south, though they reported that the Twins were quiet.

One message stood out among the rest.  Brienne wrote that she and Podrick had been diverted in the Riverlands, and their return to Winterfell would be delayed.  She apologized for not being at Sansa’s side but felt confident that the men of Winterfell would do their duty to their Lady. 

Sansa wondered what could possibly be delaying her sworn shield but trusted the lady knight’s judgement.  The King’s Road would be clogged with Queen Daenerys’s Dothraki and Unsullied, so perhaps Brienne and Podrick had gotten off the road to avoid them. 

As she opened her chamber door to join Jon and break her fast, the Hound was standing sentry.

“Milady,” he growled, giving her a sideways look.

Sansa hesitated in her reply.  She felt uncomfortable calling him, ‘Hound,’ or ‘Dog,’ as Joffrey had done, and he wouldn’t accept ser.

As if he knew what she was thinking, he continued, “Clegane will do.” 

“Very well,” she said, gathering her skirts.  “I am breaking my fast in the solar.  You are free to accompany me, though I doubt any harm shall come to me in my own keep.”

“If you say so,” she heard him mutter under his breath as he fell into step behind her.

* * *

**Arya**

The solar was quiet as she entered.  Jon was seated at the head of the table.  Bran was there as well as Sam.  Arya wasn’t sure what to make of the presence of the maester-in-training at a family meal.  She nodded to her brothers and Sam and took a place at the table next to him.

As she settled herself, the door opened for Sansa.  Arya noted the Hound in the corridor.  Sansa nodded to him before entering, and he took up a watch at the door as it closed behind her sister.  Arya gave Sansa a puzzled look.  Sansa shook her head as if to say, _another time_.

After Sansa was seated, Jon coughed and looked at them each in turn.  

“Well, out with it,” Arya said, “What news could possibly have kept you from the evening meal last night but could wait to be shared until morning?”

Jon hesitated. 

Bran cut in.  “We know who Jon’s parents are,” he said flatly. 

“His mother, you mean,” Sansa said.  “We know who his father was.”

“You all thought you did,” Sam said, looking at Jon.  “Go ahead, Jon.”

Jon sighed.  Arya chanced a glance at Sansa who looked just as confused as she felt.

“Sam came across some records while he was in Old Town, and Bran was able to look back at what happened,” Jon said slowly.

Jon continued, “the last thing Father told me before I left for the wall and he went South was that I didn’t have his name, but I have his blood.  He said I am a Stark and that he would tell me about my mother someday.”

“I don’t understand…” Sansa began.

“Eddard Stark was not my father,” Jon said, looking at them.

“How can you be a Stark then?” Sansa asked.

“My mother was Aunt Lyanna.  She died giving birth to me in Dorne,” he said.

* * *

**Sansa**

_Aunt Lyanna_ , Sansa thought.

“So your father was…” Sansa hesitated on the name.

“Rhaegar Targaryen,” Jon finished. 

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment as the revelation of Jon’s parentage hung in the air.  Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  Bran stared at nothing.

Finally Arya broke the silence.  “Why would father lie to us?” she asked no one in particular.

“Robert,” Bran said.  “He hunted down all of the Targaryens.  He even sent assassins after Queen Daenerys in Essos.”

“Why did Rhaegar take Aunt Lyanna?” Sansa thought aloud.  “He was already married to Elia Martell.  They had two children.”

Same spoke then.  “Rhaegar had his marriage to Elia annulled.  I read the septon’s diary when I was in Old Town.  Rhaegar loved your aunt.  The septon performed their wedding in secret.”

“Robert’s Rebellion was built on a lie,” Bran said.  “Lyanna went willingly.  She didn’t want to marry Robert.”

“She knew the kind of man he was,” Arya said.

With each new piece of the puzzle coming to light, Sansa felt a knot in her stomach tighten.  All of those years she could have loved Jon as a cousin, and she hadn’t even treated him as a brother.  Robb, Arya, Bran, and even Rickon had all loved him as they loved each other.  Their father had raised him as one of his own.  Her mother…  Tears welled in her eyes at the thought of all the things her mother had done or not done to her nephew.

“Oh, Jon,” she cried, getting to her feet and going to him.  “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed into his shoulder.

“Sansa,” he said, rubbing her back.  “Whatever for?”

“I—was—so—mean—to—you—” she heaved, losing her carefully crafted composure.  “And Mother—”

“Sh—shh—, there, there now,” he said, holding her as if she were a toddler.  “It’s all in the past.”

“But you were the Prince,” she said, looking at him in aww.  “You _are_ the Prince.”  She stood and regained her composure.

“I don’t want any of that,” he said.  “I’m a northerner.  I belong here.”

“What about Daenerys?” Sansa asked, returning to her seat.

“Or Gendry?” Arya cut in.

“How do you know—” Jon looked at Arya but didn’t finish the question.  “I’ve spoken to Daenerys.  I stand by bending the knee.  Nothing will change while the Night King still marches our way.”

“She wants you to rule with her,” Bran said flatly.

“But Jon,” Sansa said, realizing who Daenerys was to him.  “She’s your _aunt_.”

“I know,” Jon said, “Which is why I am not concerned with that at the moment.  I must ask that this discussion not leave this room.  We cannot afford to lose the northern lords over this.”

“You’re right,” Sansa said, becoming the Lady again.  “We must act as if nothing has changed.  Jon is our brother, Ned Stark’s bastard.”

“D’you think she’d let you ride her other dragon?” Arya asked, grinning.

“Arya!” Sansa cried, the Lady returned in full. 

“What?” her sister smirked.  “Targaryens ride dragons.  Jon is a Targaryen.”

“I haven’t asked,” Jon scowled at his sister. 

As they finished breaking their fast, the comfort of family returned.  Sansa shared the plans she had begun to work out for securing the keep.  Sam shared all that he had learned in Old Town about dragon glass and how to forge it into weapons.  Jon confirmed that the boy Gendry was a talented smith and ready to get to work.  Nothing more was said about Jon’s parentage nor what that meant for the North or the Seven Kingdoms as a whole. 

* * *

 

**Arya**

Sansa finished her meal and went to see about preparations for the coming wars.  Bran wanted to go to the godswood, and Sam went with him.  Arya was thinking she would go to the yard and train with Needle or visit Gendry in the armory. 

“Arya, a moment please,” Jon called after her. 

She turned back to her brother, looking every part the king he was born to be.

“I don’t know how you know Gendry,” he said, giving her a serious look, “Or how you know about his parentage, but that is best kept secret even within these walls.”

“We traveled from King’s Landing together,” Arya said, intending to give him the short version.  “He was going to join the Night’s Watch, and I was coming home.”

“I don’t care who his father was,” Jon said, eyeing her carefully.  “I’m not sure he cares who mine really is, but I can’t be sure.  I can’t speak for Daenerys.”

Arya nodded that she understood what was at stake.  Three valid claimants to the Iron Throne were all at Winterfell at once.

“He doesn’t want the Iron Thone,” she said.

“Nor do I,” Jon gave her a sad smile.  “Daenerys will be queen, and the world need never know about us.  Gendry will have a place here at Winterfell so long as he chooses to stay.”

Arya hugged her brother and left for the training yard.

* * *

**Sandor**  

The Little Bird stepped out of the solar, looking slightly ruffled.  Faint pink patches on her face showed she’d been crying.  He’d heard bits of their conversation through the door, but he said nothing.  It was not his place to offer commentary.  Not yet. 

She nodded to him vaguely before turning down the corridor.  He strode comfortably, keeping up with her hurried steps.  Down passages and quiet stairs she flew, and he followed.  She crossed the yard where men trained and walked through a quiet archway and a door flanked by two stone direwolves.  The same doorway King Robert had gone through years before.

It was dark and damp in the crypts of the Starks.  Silent stone statues of Kings in the North and Lords of Winterfell watched them as they passed, iron swords rusting away.  Their stone direwolves guarded the feet of their long dead masters. 

They stopped partway down the first level in front of the statue of a woman who looked very much like the little she-wolf.  Next to her was a man Sandor recognized as Eddard Stark.  Beyond him was Lady Stark, the Little Bird’s mother, a teenage boy who must be her brother, Robb, and a much younger boy no older than twelve.  Past that, empty crypts marched on into darkness. 

The empty eyes of the dead Starks watched him, knowing he didn’t belong.

“You could have stayed above,” the Little Bird said quietly.

“Didn’t know you were visiting with the dead,” he said.

“I don’t know what brought me down here,” she said, looking up at the stone face of the woman before her.  “The lowest level is collapsed.  My brother Robb once took us down here so Jon could jump out and scare us.”  She laughed at the memory.

“Who is she?” he asked, nodding to the woman before her.

“Lyanna Stark,” she said, not looking at him.  “My aunt.”

“Your parents and brothers I understand,” he said.  “Why visit her?”

“I’d always believed the story,” she said quietly.  “My aunt was betrothed to Robert Baratheon.  After the tourney at Harrenhal, Prince Rhaegar had seen her beauty and so decided to kidnap and rape her.  My grandfather and uncle Brandon rode south to get her back.  The Mad King burned my grandfather alive and forced my uncle to watch as he strangled himself.  My father, Robert, Jon Arryn, and my other grandfather, Hoster Tully, raised their armies to take Lyanna back and overthrow the Mad King.  Lyanna mysteriously died, and my father came home with his bastard son, Jon.  Robert became king.”

“Aye, everyone knows that story,” Sandor said, watching her carefully.

“It was all a lie,” she said, looking at him finally.

He took a step closer to her.  “I hate lies,” he growled.  Her deep blue eyes drew him in. 

“I know,” she whispered, holding his gaze. 

_Fuck decorum_ , he thought.

He leaned down and kissed her, gently at first so as not to startle her.  She didn’t pull back.  Small hands tried to encircle his back.  His left arm found her back, and his right found her waist.  Her soft lips were gentle on his.  Her scent of lavender and lemons was intoxicating.  She opened her mouth slightly and allowed him to explore with his tongue.  Time stood still.

Finally she pulled black slowly and gazed upon him.  She put a hand to his scarred face, pulling him back to reality.  He turned away and snarled at her.

“I should not have done that,” he growled.

“But you’ve wanted to,” she said.  “For a long time.”

“You were just a child that night,” he scowled.  “Your song reminded me of that.”

“I’m not a child anymore,” she said quietly, masking the pain behind those blue eyes.

“What did they do to you, Little Bird?” he asked, fearing the answer. 

“Do you know the sigil for House Bolton?” she asked calmly.

“Aye,” he said slowly.

“Use your imagination,” she said.

With that, she turned on her heal and disappeared to the ground above leaving him with the ghosts of House Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did I tell you? ;) We're not all the way there yet, but I hope you enjoyed the sneak peak. Your kudos, comments, reviews, etc., are much appreciated!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again! This week is going to be a busy one, so I didn't want to leave you handing for too long! This is a shorter chapter, but I think it's one that many of you have been waiting for. Enjoy!

** Chapter 8 **

**Sansa**

Sansa couldn’t wrap her head around what had just occurred in the crypts. 

_The Hound kissed me._

The feel of his lips still lingered on hers as she swept through the keep to her chambers.  Given the short list of men she had kissed, she did not remember ever having kissed lips such as those.  She had somehow expected to feel his scars, but they did not reach down to his mouth.  His beard was thick now, soft and dark.  Though gentle, there had been power and experience behind those lips.  There was no hint of malice as she had sensed in other men. 

His scent lingered in her nose as well.  Boiled leather, sweat, horses, and an odor that reminded her of her father cleaning Ice.  Oil, perhaps?  All smells associated with soldiers.  Separately they were offensive to her nose as it was usually accustomed to the scent of flowers and lovely things.  But together?

She reached her chambers and barred the door.  There was business to attend to, but her mind was distracted.  She sat in a chair by the fire and gazed aimlessly into the flames.

_What will he expect of me now?_

The men she had kissed in the past had all wanted something of her after.  Except for Lord Tyrion, but that had been different.  After her experiences with Littlefinger and Ramsay, she had some idea of what all men wanted from women.  Would Clegane want that as well? 

She had sworn to never marry again after Ramsay.  She was damaged goods.  What highborn lord would want her for himself or his son?  _Many_ , she reminded herself.  Clegane had all but told her as much.

Round and round her thoughts circled between her fear of opening herself up to a man and a desire to know what it was to be in love.  Was it love?  Certainly she had enjoyed kissing him.  There had been sensations in her belly that she hadn’t known she could feel.  A warmth that pushed her to return and dive deeper. 

_But what if he’s just like the others?_

His outward treatment of her would suggest that he was.  Even on that day on the King’s Road and many times afterward he had never held anything back from her.  The night of the Blackwater he had more than implied what he was thinking of doing to her.

And yet his rough and rather lewd behavior was so different from the others.  They had all been sweetness and propriety on the outside but had wicked thoughts behind their lordly courtesies.  He had told her once that a dog would never lie to her.  He had told her more truths about the world than just about anyone.  Those truths had kept her alive. 

Still, she was the Lady of Winterfell.  Things were expected of her as the Lady of a great house and the “sister” of a great lord such as Jon.  No doubt he would wish her to strengthen their hold on the North, thought he would never say so.  If he sought his birthright, it was up to her alone to ensure the future of House Stark.

But for so long she had put duty first.  She had had so many chances to escape King’s Landing that she had squandered on Joffrey.  And while Littlefinger had helped her escape, trusting him had cost her dearly.  Perhaps with the coming wars it wasn’t wrong to consider following her heart for once.

* * *

**Sandor**

The Little Bird had flown off so quickly, he was sure he had made a grave misjudgment.

_Use your imagination_ , she had said.

He recalled the maesters and septons at the school in Lannisport during his brief education droning on about the great houses of each of the seven kingdoms as well as his vast knowledge of banners.  The sigil for House Bolton, bannermen to House Stark and lords of the Dredfort, was the Flayed Man.  The Boltons were renowned for their treatment of prisoners and captives.  During Robert’s Rebellion it was much better to risk being captured or even killed by a Stark man than a Bolton.  He’d heard enough stories to have a good sense of what his Little Bird had been subjected to during her second marriage.

_His Little Bird_.

Could he assume such familiarity?  Surely not.  She was the Lady of the keep and he her shield.  Compared to her position, he was a glorified peasant, the second son of the son of a kennel master raised to knighthood for saving his lord.  A slight pressure that had been in his breeches a moment ago subsided. 

He waited several moments after she had left so as to not give the appearance that anything untoward had occurred.  He chanced a glance around the yard once he surfaced.  The lads who were training paid him no mind.  The Little Bird was nowhere in sight.  He ventured out in search of the kitchens and a tankard with his name on it. 

“Going somewhere?” a voice asked from somewhere on his left.  The little she-wolf stepped out from behind a wagon.

“Don’t you have sewing to practice, girl?” he growled, not in a mood for her needling at him.

“Train with me,” she said, a hind of demand in her voice, “if my sister has no need of you at the moment.”

“And what if she does?” he scowled.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” the she-wolf smirked.  “She was in an awfully big hurry to get to her chambers.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “But none of your damned water dancing.”

“You’re just afraid I’ll beat you and embarrass you in front of the boys,” she smirked.  “Live steel,” she gestured toward his sheathed blade as she drew her own and got her stance.  “I won’t hurt you,” she winked.

“Let’s see what you got,” he growled, drawing his own blade. 

Slender Needle met hand-and-a-half longsword in a chink of steel.  Gone was the wild she-wolf who would charge in screaming.  She was silent in her parries and thrusts other than the sounds of her small feet in the dirt and the screech of her sword on his.  He filled the silence with grunts and yells as he chased after her.  One moment he would see a chance to mock running her through or slicing off her head, and the next she would slink under his outstretched arm or step out of reach. 

Whenever she would get close enough to point her sword at his belly or throat, she would whisper, “dead.”

A small crowd of the other trainers and a few of the lasses gathered to watch.  They whooped and cheered as he would charge at her with full force and laugh and clap when she would dodge him. 

At one point his parry hit just the right spot so she dropped her sword.  He managed to get her before she drew her dagger.  “Dead,” he smirked.

She leaned back and rolled over, standing with her blade back in hand.  The crowd cheered and began to dissipate as she bowed to him and slunk away.

As he sheathed his sword and got a few pats on the back from the lads, he heard a gentle but firm voice from above call, “Clegane.”

The Little Bird stood on the wooden walkway above the yard and looked down at him.  “With me,” she said.

He nodded to the lads and joined the Lady as she came down from above.

“As my brother is occupied ingratiating himself to our guests, I need to see to the outer defenses,” she said as she walked toward the stables.  “Ride out with me.”

“Yes, mi’lady,” keeping two paces behind her.

She nodded to the stable boy who stepped inside to saddle a chestnut mare.  Sandor followed him back to Stranger’s stall.  The black stallion nickered at his master, ready for a ride.  By the time he had saddled Stranger and had walked back out of the stables, she was astride the chestnut waiting for him.

As they rode through the gates of Winterfell, he held Stranger back a few paces to follow behind her.  Once they were several yards away from the gate, she turned in her saddle and called for him to ride abreast.  He trotted up to her side.

They walked the perimeter of the castle for a long time before she broke the silence.  “What horrors have you conjured about my late husband?” she asked.

“They always said you never wanted to be caught alive by a Bolton man,” he ventured.

“So I learned,” she smiled sadly.  “I think I understand you better now.”

“Oh?” he asked, raising his good eyebrow.

“To be left broken and scarred by someone who should love you,” she said, turning to him.  “It’s a horrible feeling.”

“Aye,” he said, “Lucky for you, you got your justice, and you still have a family who cares for you.”

“And you?” she asked, leaning over and placing a gloved hand on his.

“A series of ‘accidents’ befell my family, and my ugly fucker of a brother is Cersei’s personal queensguard,” he growled.

She ignored what he had called Gregor and simply said, “Someday.”

“Aye, someday if someone else doesn’t get to him first,” he said.  “He’s on a lot of people’s lists.”

“Indeed,” she said quietly.

They continued on in companionable silence.  Every so often she would point out a fortification to him for inspection or ask about the placement of a siege weapon.  He offered his opinion, and she seemed receptive to what he had to say.  It seemed she respected his knowledge and experience.  It was a stark change from Joff who had mostly ignored him until he needed him for some abuse or misdeed.

She was beautiful astride her chestnut mare with her own chestnut locks blowing freely in the northern breeze.  Her blue eyes lit up as she showed off her home in all its imposing glory.  It was no Casterly Rock or Red Keep, but Winterfell was strong in its own right as if it exuded the strength of the Northerners within its walls.

The sun was getting lower in the sky as they returned to the main gates and entered through them.  He dropped out of his saddle first and took the reins of her mare.  She gave him her hand as she gracefully slid from the saddle.

“Wash up and take your evening meal now so you may attend me in the great hall,” she said.

All he could do was nod silently and watch her walk across the yard before Stranger reminded him that he was owed a carrot for his good behavior.

“C’mon, you,” he growled as he led the horses back to the stables.  He handed her chestnut off to a stable boy and set to work on settling Stranger himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably not as slow a build as it could be, but we're eight chapters in, and these two have a history. Continuing to hold off on the smut for a little while though.
> 
> If you were wondering what Brienne and Pod were up to last chapter, keep an eye out for a spinoff fic soon! I have plans for them and Jaime, though I don't want to take away from our main couple in this fic. I don't expect it will be a long one as I do want to bring them into this story eventually before the main showdown. I'll edit with a link once I have the first chapter up.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT WARNING
> 
> Minors, be warned! We've arrived at the smutty, fluffy stuff! Get your fans ready, it's going to get steamy!

** Chapter 9 **

**Sansa**

With no news from the Wall or the Neck, Sansa’s days began to find a comfortable rhythm.  Her nightmares wouldn’t allow her to lie about, so she was usually up early.  Clegane was at her door to escort her to break her fast in the great hall or with Jon and Arya on the solar.  If Jon was particularly busy with war councils, she would take audiences in the great hall.  Otherwise she would join Sam in the library to brush up on wartime defenses. 

Clegane usually took that time to train in the yard with Arya and the men.  Sometimes she would pause her work and watch from the wooden walkway above.  It was difficult to pretend that she was surveying her men as the Lady of Winterfell should and not simply watch him in particular.  He was so powerful and strong. 

After the midway meal she would take a ride outside the walls or walk the battlements with Clegane.  She was impressed by his knowledge of defenses and strategy.  She encouraged him to speak freely, and he did so.  His affirmations assuaged her worry of the things heading their way.

Finally, Jon got word from Castle Black.  Tormund Giantsbane had managed to escape the assault on Eastwatch with a few other Wildings and had run the length of the Wall to Castle Black.  Beric Dondarrion had been lost in the wreckage.  Bran was able to see that the Night King indeed had the dragon that had fallen beyond the Wall.  But it seemed that the army of the dead was not in a hurry to march their way just yet.

That evening, Jon called a war council to which Sansa and Arya were not invited.

“I need you to focus on our defenses here, not what’s happening out there,” Jon had said.

He had called Daenerys Targaryen and all of the present Northern Lords.  Even little Lyanna Mormont was allowed with her maester.  Bran and Sam were there too.  As the Lady of Winterfell, Sansa felt she should have been included as well, but it would have been unseemly for her to say anything in front of the lords.  Jon was Warden of the North, not her. 

It didn’t sit well with Sansa, and she went to bed early.  Despite her sour mood, she felt safe with Clegane at her door as she fell asleep and waited for the nightmares to come.

* * *

**Sandor**

The corridor was quiet as he stood sentry outside the Little Bird’s chambers.  She’d gone to bed in a foul mood after being shut out of the war council, so no one seemed inclined to disturb her.  It was earlier than usual, so he stood at her door longer than he did most other nights before being relieved. 

Her screams cut the silence with a knife.  “N—no.  Stop it.  You’re hurting!  Ahh!!”

Knowing there was a back door to her chamber, he took a quick glance around the corridor.  Nothing.  One hand on the pommel of his sword, he deftly opened her door with the other. 

The scene before him was not what he had expected with what he had just heard.  The fire in her grate still had enough life left to light the room.  The Little Bird was tangled up in her bedding and thrashing about.  No one else was there, and the back door was closed with no sign of disturbance.  A nightmare.

His long strides carried him to the bed.  He didn’t want to startle her, but she was still lost in her dreams.  Carefully he knelt at the side of the bed and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Little Bird,” he called, “It’s only me.  Wake up before your entire guard is in here.” 

He shook her gently.  Cold hands gripped his arm before she finally opened her eyes.

“Hound?” she asked groggily.

“Aye, I’m here,” he rasped softly.  “Quite the nightmare you were having, Little Bird.”

“It was nothing,” she said, sitting up.  “Return to your post.”

He narrowed his eyes.  “Don’t lie to a Dog.  I’ve had my share of nightmares.  That was not, ‘nothing.’” 

She pulled the deep green cover back over herself and turned over.  The detailing of the fabric shone in the firelight, catching Sandor’s eye.  He picked up the edge and ran his thumb over the embroidery.  Crossed swords and a crown.

“Little Bird, where did you get this?” he asked carefully.

She turned back to him and sat up.  She took the fastenings he had missed and drew the cloak around her. 

“It’s yours,” she said quietly.  “From the Blackwater.”

“I don’t recall Kingsguard cloaks being green,” he frowned.

“Green hides the bloodstains,” she said, not returning his gaze.  “And it would have been difficult to flee King’s Landing in a dirty Kingsguard cloak.” 

He took her hand.  “Why did you keep it?”

“I don’t know,” she said, looking at her hand in his.

He lifted her chin so she would look at him.  “Put yourself under my protection, did you?”

“It’s not like that!” she cried and pulled away from him.

“Easy, easy,” he tried to say reassuringly.  “Keep it if it brings you comfort.  Gods know it never brought me any.”

She relaxed, and he stood, intending to go back to the corridor before someone noticed he was gone and raised the alarm.

“No,” she reached for him and caught his elbow.  “Stay.  Please?”

“It’s not my place,” he frowned.

“It is if I say it is,” she said, rising to her knees.

“What do you want of me?” he asked, turning back to her.

Her lips met his in answer.  Surprised at first, he softened as her gentle kiss encouraged him.  Her hands found his belt and pulled him closer.  His hands found her hair and waist and held her close.  Hers nestled on his hips.  He felt his cock swell at the possibility.

He broke off the kiss and chanced a glance at her.  Her eyes fluttered open, sparkling in the firelight.  

“Sansa,” he whispered, tasting her name in his mouth.

She reached up and put a hand to his burned cheek.  “You wear your scars for the world to see,” she said softly. 

“Not much choice,” he said huskily

“They always wanted to leave my ‘pretty face’ alone,” she said.

She turned away from him and pulled her night shift up over her head.  Even in the fading firelight Sandor could see the different marks that covered her.  White lines he knew to be knife cuts.  Bite marks below her collar.  _Burns_. 

Some he remembered as the work of Meryn Trant.  Others were more fresh.  Each one made his heart ache for the pain she had endured while receiving it.

“Sick fucks,” was all he managed to say. 

A sniffle alerted him to her tears.  “What is it, Little Bird?” he asked.

She turned back around, still sitting there naked.  “All I ever wanted was to marry a handsome knight or lord or even a prince and live in a castle like in the stories,” she wept.  “You tried to tell me, and I didn’t listen.”

“You were a child,” he said softly, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb.  “You grew up here in the North where men are honorable.”

She laughed darkly.  “Men like the Boltons?”

He kicked himself internally for that one.  “ _Most_ Northerners,” he corrected.

“Not enough to induce me to marry again,” she said, “North, South, anywhere.”

“Better hope that brother of yours cares for you enough to respect that,” Sandor said.

“I’ve had enough of being a bargaining chip,” she said, reaching up and kissing him again. 

He took that as a sign, and undid his belt, leaving his sword on the floor where he could grab it if needed.  She took him by the collar and pulled him onto the bed.  Her hands went to work quickly on the laces of his leather jerkin.  He took the opportunity to explore her body.  She tensed at his touch but relaxed when he looked her in the eye. 

After he’d been divested of his jerkin, she pulled his tunic out of his breeches and up over his head.  His bare chest seemed to please her as she took him in.  Her fingers ghosted over his own white scars.

“Like what you see, Little Bird?” he rasped.

She nodded.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” she breathed. 

She lay back as he tossed off his breeches.  Her blue eyes went wide as she saw his cock spring to life.

“Sansa?” he asked again. 

“Mmm?” she replied. 

“Say the word, and we’ll stop,” he said firmly.

She nodded again.

* * *

**Sansa**

_Gods, he’s huge!_ She thought.

She wouldn’t have expected anything less given the rest of him. 

_Are you sure?_ He had asked.

She was.  Scars and all, she wanted him.

She spread her legs.  He lined himself up with her woman’s place.  His gray eyes locked with hers.  One thrust, she felt him slide in.  No painful clench in fear.  Her juices coated him as he pulled back, her channel compensating for him.  Back in.  A moan escaped her.  He chuckled at her pleasure.  A few more slow thrusts to test the waters.  She found his mouth and encouraged him with her tongue.  He increased his pace gently, locking eyes with her, seeing if she was alright.  She wrapped her arms around his back.  Her hips bucked to meet his thrusts.  They found their rhythm.  He groaned as she kissed his neck, leaving purple-red nibbles behind.  He began to tense as his peak was approaching.  Still locking eyes with her.  He groaned deeply as he came, filling her with his seed.  He kissed her deeply before pulling out and rolling to the side so he wouldn’t crush her.  She curled into his side and lay her head on his sweat covered chest.

“Is that what it is for a man to love a woman?” she asked him quietly. 

He was silent for a moment, still breathing heavily.  “I believe so, Little Bird,” he said, kissing her head.

“I never knew it could be like that,” she said.

“What, fucking?” he chuckled.

“Sandor Clegane!” she japed, feigning insult.

“Whatever did your septa teach you?” he chuckled. 

“How to sew and how to do my duty to my husband,” she said airily.  

“Nothing useful then,” he winked.

“Sewing is very useful,” she laughed.

“If you say so,” he yawned.

“What has exhausted you so, my lord?” she asked sweetly.

“No idea,” he chuckled.

His vigor seemed to renew in that moment.  Sansa waited to see if they would couple again.  While it had been wonderful, she was a bit sore from his size.

He rolled on his side and kissed her belly.  He smiled at her giggle.  More kisses came.  All over her belly and down her thighs he explored with gentle kisses.  He worked his way down until he was lying between her legs looking up at her from her southern curls.  He grinned.  His face disappeared, and she felt a wave of pleasure wash over her.

_He’s licking my woman’s place!_ she realized.

She felt his tongue lapping at her, tasting his own seed on her.  He focused on a spot above her channel she hadn’t realized was there.  She tensed and writhed under his ministrations.  Her hand found the unburnt side of his hair and wrapped itself in his locks.  Soft moans escaped her, and she felt him chuckle at her response.  A huge wave passed, and she cried out as she rode it.  She felt as if she were floating on a cloud.  Instinctively, she closed her legs and pushed gently on his shoulders.  He slid back to her side and held her close.

“Did you enjoy that, Little Bird?” he smirked.

“Mmm-hmm,” was all she could manage.  

“Good,” he kissed the top of her head.  “First time I’ve tried that.”

“I love you, Sandor,” she whispered.

“And I love you, Little Bird,” he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it! I hope you enjoyed that! It's my first really smutting writing, so I hope I did SanSan justice. Suggestions appreciated!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo sorry for the wait, lovelies! It's been a crazy week. Hopefully you'll forgive me after this longer chapter ;) Enjoy!
> 
> Archive warnings apply here. Hints of past non-con and PTSD.

** Chapter 10 **

**Sandor**

Sandor awoke as wintery morning light was streaming through the window.  The warmth of the Little Bird’s sleeping form nestled up to him reminded him of what had happened the night before.  He smiled to himself as he gazed upon her.  This beautiful, fierce creature had given herself to him despite everything she had been through. 

A sharp knock sounded at the door, and Sansa sat bolt upright.

“Yes?” she called, giving him a kiss on his scarred cheek.

“Lord Varys to see you, milady,” the guard called.

She paled as she looked at Sandor. 

“A moment if you please,” she replied, clearly trying not to panic.

“What in the Seven Hells does the Spider want,” Sandor growled.  It was too early for that simpering eunuch.

“I don’t know,” Sansa replied, getting up.  “But you need to go.  Quickly!” she hissed.

She tossed his scattered clothes on the bed and fetched her own shift.  He dressed as quickly as possible without lumbering about.

“Down the back stairs,” she directed.  “Go!”  He complied.

As soon as the door closed behind him, he realized with horror that she hadn’t given him his sword.  He heard her voice and the Spider’s foreign accent.  

_Fuck_ , he thought.  No matter, he would go to his quarters and retrieve his other blade and return to her door.

* * *

**Sansa**

As soon as Sandor left her, she hurried to put on a dressing gown to cover herself.  What could the Spider possibly want that couldn’t wait until she was properly dressed and ready for audiences?

She took a deep breath to compose herself and opened the door.

Lord Varys stood before her alone.

“Good morning, Lady Sansa, he smiled at her.  “A word, if I may?”

“Yes, come in, my lord,” she said, stepping back for him to enter.  She offered him one of the chairs by the fire.

“I’m curious as to the nature of your visit so early,” she said, giving him her best Lady of Winterfell air.

“My little birds tell me you arise early, and I was hoping to speak to you in private,” he said.  He glanced over at her tousled bed.

Sansa felt herself go pale as she glimpsed the sword tucked beneath.  She hoped Lord Varys wouldn’t recognize it.

“My lady,” Lord Varys began, “I’m sure I needn’t remind you of the position you hold here in the North.”

“Go on,” she said regally.

“I understand that you have felt like a pawn these last years,” he continued.

“Indeed,” she said.  “If you are referring to my former and late husbands, I have resolved to not enter into another marriage anytime soon.”

“I understand, my lady,” Varys smiled.  “I would hate for you to be _hounded_ by knights and lords from all over Westeros.”

“I thank you for your consideration for my welfare, my lord,” she replied.  His emphasis was not lost on her.

“Please know that though I serve Queen Daenerys, I do hold the interests of the North close to my heart,” he smiled.  “I’m sure you wish to help your half-brother secure his hold on Winterfell and the North.”

“The Northern lords respect my brother,” Sansa said, “He does not need my help.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” Varys smiled again, “Though should he choose to follow his heart, he may need you.”

“Jon is rather focused on the army of the dead marching down on us,” Sansa said coolly.  “I would hope your queen is as well.”

“Oh, she is, my lady,” Varys said, standing.  “Do take care of yourself, Lady Sansa.” 

He bowed, and she walked him to her door.  As she opened it, Sandor was standing sentry, another blade strapped to his back.  She noticed him eyeing the Spider carefully as he glided down the corridor.

“What did he want, Little Bird?” he growled once the Spider was out of earshot.

“He knows,” she breathed.

“He has his little fucking birds everywhere,” he growled.  “Steady, Little Bird,” he smiled down at her.  “If he wanted to ruin you, he wouldn’t caution you first.”

“You probably want your sword back,” she said.

“Aye,” he smirked, “Fetch it for me before the whole castle wakes and knows about us.”

She retrieved the sword and his belt.  As he hurriedly strapped it on, she said, “Break your fast and attend me while I take petitions.  We will speak while we survey the defenses.”

He nodded that he understood before she closed the door to prepare herself for the day ahead.  

As she dressed, she gazed at herself in the mirror on her dressing table.  Her scars remained, but she noted new purple-red marks on her breasts, visible reminders of the encounter from the night before.  She smiled, recalling how they had gotten there.  

She picked up the jar of moontea herbs Maester Wolkan had slipped her to prevent a Bolton heir.  Rubbing her thumb on the label written in Maester Luwin’s angular script, she pondered what she would do.  She had been married twice and avoided getting with child each time.  Now she was divorced and widowed.  It would be a terrible time to be with child with the army of the dead on their way and Cersei wanting to finish off the survivors. 

She turned back to the doorway where Clegane was surely still standing.  As Jon’s heir for the moment and the de facto Lady of Winterfell, she needed her husband to be willing to be below her.  That, and she couldn’t bear the idea of leaving Winterfell and giving her children the name of another house.

She set the jar down.  The gods would decide what would happen in her womb.

Her morning passed much as the last several had.  She broke her fast in the great hall with her siblings, Queen Daenerys, and their courts.  Jon said little of what had been discussed the previous evening, only that they were formulating plans so as to stay ahead of the Night King while also keeping an eye on the South.  Arya pestered him, but he said nothing of substance. 

The list of petitions was rather mundane.  Farmers and other smallfolk were concerned about getting through the winter.  They were worried about the large numbers of Dothraki and Unsullied encamped around Winterfell and the further numbers making their way North.  They also feared the dragons.

Sansa heard each petition and tried her best to assuage the fears of her people.  Winterfell was well stocked for winter, and they would take care of the needs of the smallfolk.  Queen Daenerys had brought supplies for her armies, and they were being kept occupied making camp and working on Winterfell’s outer defenses.  The dragons were well fed and uninterested in livestock for the moment.

All the while, she felt Sandor standing behind her.  Had he always stood so close to her?  She felt his warmth on her skin and heard his breath in her ear.  It took all of her willpower to focus on the task at hand even as her body had other ideas.  It would be a long morning.

* * *

**Sandor**

After attending the Little Bird while she heard the concerns of her smallfolk, she left for the library and he for the training yard.  It had been almost unbearable standing right behind her taking in her scent.  The previous night’s events left him sore, but he felt invigorated all the same. 

The lads lined up, and he took them one by one.  He barked at each misstep and showed them how a little mistake could be the difference between life and death.  These greenboys needed to be whipped into shape before facing the relentless legions of the dead and the well-trained and disciplined Lannister troops.  He kept at it until the boys were sufficiently worn out.    

The Little Bird hadn’t made an appearance yet, so he set off for the kennels.  He needed to think, and dogs helped him do just that.  He was a Dog himself, after all.

The Winterfell kennels were at the back of the stables.  He tossed Stranger an apple and patted him before continuing on.

Whoever had been the kennel master had left the place in shambles.  The mongrels growled as he approached.  He approached slowly, keeping his eyes on them. 

Being the grandson of a kennel master, he knew dogs.  Clegane’s Keep had been crawling with them.  On their fifth name days his grandfather had gifted a pup to him and Gregor in turn.  Gregor’s had been an uncontrollable beast who even bit the hand that fed him as rare as that was.  But it was in Gregor’s nature to be cruel, and the dog was much the same as his master. 

Sandor’s own hound had been quite the opposite.  He’d carefully weaned the pup from the bottle to meat he snuck from the kitchens.  Warrior, he’d named him.  Warrior slept at the foot of his bed every night.  When he wasn’t training in the yard with the sword, he was training Warrior.  The dog was loyal as they came, following his every command.

By his sixth name day, his grandfather had died mysteriously.  A few months later, Gregor and his father had gone out hunting.  They took Warrior, but Sandor’s mother said he was too young to go.  When his father and Gregor returned, they brought back Warrior’s body with an arrow in his heart.  His father had sworn it was an accident.  Warrior had broken off, and the men had thought he was a deer.

But the way Gregor smirked at him, Sandor knew the truth.  He’d always said that Sandor was “too soft with that fucking dog.”  Gregor always ruined everything.

Lost in his memories of the past, he hadn’t realized that he was stroking the head of a mangy black hound.  Gentle footsteps and the swish of skirts brought him back to the present.

She was quiet for some time.  Finally, she approached and spoke.

“I hope you know,” she said carefully, “I have no regrets about last night.”

“Nor I,” he said quietly.  He’d stopped stroking the dog who whined at him to continue.

She went silent again, seemingly unsure of what to say. 

“They all want to marry you off again,” he said, reading her thoughts. 

“It seems so,” she sighed.  “Jon understands.  The threat of the Night King is a big enough distraction at the moment, but I don’t believe my freedom is guaranteed indefinitely.  Jon may very well turn South and leave Winterfell behind.” 

“So you’ll have me around until you find some fancy lord to take you away,” he growled.

“No!” she cried.  “Knights, lords, and princes, they are all just as you said.  The stories lie.”

He paused for a while.  “I’ll not stand by listening to some prissy lord bedding you.”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you,” she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

It pained him to see her getting upset.

“Hush now, Little Bird,” he said gently, “No cocks have come calling yet.”

She smiled sadly and watched him with the hounds. 

“They like you,” she said.

“Smart creatures,” he replied.  “Always liked them more than people.”

“That one was my father’s favorite,” she said, nodding at the one nuzzling his hand.

“What’s his name?” he asked.

“Blackfish,” she said simply.  “Mother named him.  Said she reminded him of her uncle.”

Sandor barely knew Ser Brynden Tully—the one they called the Blackfish—by sight, having seen him at tourneys in years past. 

“Did he eat your husband?” Sandor asked, still focused on the dog. 

“Maybe,” she said quietly.  “Ramsay was especially cruel to him.  He was one of the last of my father’s.”

Blackfish gave him one last nuzzle before he moved off to the water trough. 

* * *

**Sansa**

As they had returned to the courtyard and he was leaving her to wash up, she said softly, “Visit me tonight after you are relieved.  Come up the back stairs.”

She was distracted all through the evening meal and after while doing her sewing in the solar with her family.  She barely heard that Jon was going to attempt to ride Queen Daenerys’ other dragon and they would be flying off in the coming days to seek out the Night King.

As the fire began to die in the grate, she bid her family good night.  Bran gave her a strange look but said nothing as she kissed his brow. 

She nodded to the guard at her door, a Cassel lad, and entered, barring the door behind her.  He was there waiting for her.

“How did you get in?” she asked.

“It’s surprisingly not difficult to move through the servant passages at this hour,” he smiled.  “Your security is lacking,” he japed.

“I’ll remember that,” she said, approaching him.

He stood and closed the space between them.  Her head was level with his chest.

“Clegane,” she said quietly, fingering the direwolf sigil embroidered on his tunic.

“Little Bird?” he asked.  He must have thought she was addressing him.

“How attached are you to your House?” she asked gazing up at him.

“House Clegane can die for all I care,” he growled.  “Bunch of kennel whelps who never deserved anything grander.”

“You would forsake your claim in the South?” she asked, almost afraid of what his reply would be.  “Allow your lands to go to another?”

“Not my lands,” he rasped, wrapping his massive arms around her.

“You are your brother’s heir, are you not?” she asked, studying his features.  As horrible as his scars were, the unmarked side of his face was rather handsome.  His trimmed beard made him more youthful than he had looked when he first arrived.

“Fuck Gregor, and fuck House Clegane,” he said, stroking her cheek with a calloused hand.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, feeling his warmth through his tunic and a bulge growing between them. 

“As Lady of Winterfell and my brother’s heir, any man I take as husband will be given right to my titles,” she said, not daring to look at him.

“You’ll have your pick of suitors then,” he growled.

“I don’t choose them,” she said, looking up into his gray eyes.

His good eyebrow furrowed.  “Ohh, no,” he stepped back.  “You don’t want me, Little Bird.”

“You think I don’t know my own mind?” she replied incredulously. 

“You deserve better,” he sighed, sinking to her bed.  “That’s what your parents wanted.”

“My parents are dead,” she said, approaching and sitting next to him.  “Joffrey beheaded my father.  He had Ser Meryn beat me.  He married me off to Lord Tyrion who was kind but did not love me.  Ramsay betrayed my brother and was cruel beyond imagining.”

He shook his head.  “I’ve done terrible things too, Little Bird.  I killed your sister’s friend, the butcher’s boy.”

“You were just following orders,” she said, taking his hand.

“Meryn fucking Trant was, ‘just following orders,’” he growled.

She rubbed her thumb on a scar on his hand.  “You’ve changed,” she whispered.  “You saved Arya,” she looked into his eyes.  “You saved me.

“Did I?” he asked, returning her gaze.

“Yes,” she breathed, leaning in to kiss him.

* * *

**Sandor**

His mind was reeling.  Her words rung in his head.  _“You saved me.”_

Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her as she leaned in to kiss him.  Her tongue probed at his lips, and he obliged her.  Her hands mirrored his and held him close.  Her scent was intoxicating.  He wrapped his fingers in her auburn tresses.  A moan escaped her.

She went to work on the laces of his tunic.  He kissed her forehead and found the laces of her dress.  She stood and let the fabric pool around her feet.  He tore his tunic off.  Her hands went to his chest, kneading his pelt.  He spun her so he could access the laces of her bodice.  Once he loosened the knot, the whole thing released.  He pulled each criss-cross and let the infernal thing drop to the floor.

He stood behind her, feeling her warmth against him.  His manhood throbbed as her round ass brushed him.  Another moan escaped her as he palmed her breasts through her shift.  She leaned her head, exposing her neck.  He blew in her ear and reveled as she melted into him. 

“You like that, Little Bird?” he rasped.

“Mmm-hmm,” was all she said.

His hands left her breasts and pulled up her shift.  She wriggled out of her small clothes and kicked them away.  His left hand found her breast and teased her nipple to life while his right hand found her southern curls.  She was soaking.

“S—Sandor, please,” she mewled. 

He deftly slipped his index finger into her folds.  Her sheath was dripping, waiting for him.  He chuckled in her ear as she moaned and bucked her hips against his hand.  He grazed her bud, and she whimpered.  His manhood throbbed painfully in his breeches, but he ignored it.  He wanted her ready for him this time.  He circled her bud, occasionally dipping into her sheath, using her drippings to keep her well-oiled.  She leaned into him as he showered her throat with kisses.  He sped up as he felt her legs shake.

“I’ve got you, Little Bird,” he rasped.

She tensed as she reached her peaked, crying out as she soaked his hand.  Her panting made the throbbing in his crotch unbearable.

He spun them so she faced the bed.  He lifted her shift and tossed it aside.  He tore at the laces of his breeches and kicked them off with his smallclothes.  He put a hand on her back and bent her over.  As his member sprung to life, he rubbed it on the entrance of her sheath.

It was in that moment he noticed she was whimpering. 

“Sansa?” he asked, lifting her up and turning her.  She crumpled into his chest and sniffled. 

“That’s how _he_ would take me,” she whispered. 

His heart shattered to pieces as he held her.  He wanted her to forget that monster, and he’d brought back those horrors afresh.

“I’m sorry, Little Bird,” he breathed into her hair.  “I’ll leave you,” he said, picking up her shift and pressing it into her hands. 

“No,” she said, tossing the shift aside.  “Stay.

They stayed holding each other for a long time.  His legs were starting to give way when he felt her finally relax.  She took his hand and pulled him into her bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? I hadn't quite intended for this chapter to be this long, but I hope it was worth it! Let me know with your comments!
> 
> I'm still thinking about how I want to tie Brienne and Jaime into this fic. Hopefully I'll have something for you soon!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started and deleted this chapter about three or four times. The last chapter make the timeline a little wonky, so apologies for that. Also, I have a feeling you all are going to hate me by the end, so I apologize ahead of time. A shorter chapter, but it's an important one.

** Chapter 11 **

**Varys**

He was not sure what to make of Sansa Stark and the Hound.  Sure, his Little Birds had whispered every time Clegane had broken his leash and rescued Ned Stark’s daughter.  On the battlements, the bread riots, and of course he’d been in the courtroom when he’d cloaked her. 

Still, it made him uneasy.  He could never fully trust Daenerys Targaryen to not follow in her father’s footsteps.  She’d proven her ruthlessness in Slaver’s Bay and again when she’d torched the Tarlys.  While the idea of condoning an incestual relationship between Daenerys and Jon Snow made his stomach turn, he hoped that the blood of the Starks would carry their sense of honor and level-headedness with it. 

With stability in the Red Keep, that left Sansa Stark as the Lady of Winterfell among all the other Great Houses that were in disarray.  The Northern lords would follow Ned Stark’s trueborn daughter without question as they had when they had won back Winterfell, but that would only continue with a good Northern husband for her.  One of the Glovers perhaps, or the pardoned Ser Jorah Mormont, the rightful Lord of Bear Island.  Or solidify the North’s ties with the Vale with her cousin the young Lord Arryn.

And yet… perhaps uniting North and West was not such a terrible idea for the realm.  Lord Tyrion was of course still making vague attempts at reclaiming his former wife, but renewing Lady Stark’s marriage with a Lannister would not bring peace.  The Northern lords would rage and bluster, and it would incite Cersei’s rage for certain. 

No… Clegane was exactly the kind of Southerner the Northerners might just accept.  But how to make sure it happened…

* * *

 

**Sandor**

Seven hells, he had fucked up.

The Little Bird was curled up in a ball whimpering into his chest. 

How could he have been such an idiot?!  She was a lady.  Of course she would never have wanted to be rutted from behind like some common whore.  And if _he_ had taken her that way…

Sandor raged internally at the thought.  How could any man not want to look upon her beauty?  Of course he would just as likely kill any other man who looked at her as he did.  To fuck her like a tavern wench was criminal.  He was disgusted with himself. 

Of course he’d had his share of women at Casterly Rock and in King’s Landing.  He hadn’t cared when Lannister gold had jingled in his purse.  A clean and willing whore was all he required.  All the better if she didn’t look at his face, and he didn’t have to see her fake, “oh’s”. 

All that had changed the night of the Blackwater.  He hadn’t entered a brothel in years.  Hells, he’d been living almost as clean as a septon the last few years. 

He should’ve known it was too good to be true when she’d asked him to stay the previous night.  He would end it tomorrow, tuck tail, and leave.  Sansa Stark deserved much better than a common Dog.

Until then he would relish in holding her to his chest, attempting to ease her to sleep.  Her breathing had slowed, so she must be almost asleep.

“Sandor?” a muffled voice called from between his nipples.

“Mph?” he grunted, indicating he was still awake.

“Why do men get so much pleasure out of taking women from behind?” she asked, lifting her head to meet his eyes.

He took a long pause before answering, carefully measuring his words.

“Makes ‘em feel powerful, I suppose,” he rasped. 

“And you?” she asked.

_Fuck_ , he thought.  This was a trap.  Wicked girl.

He thought for a long time before he finally spoke.

“The brothel wenches never wanted to look upon this old, ugly mug,” he growled, eyeing her carefully.

She softened, seeming to accept his answer.

“You’re not that old,” she gave a small smile.

He chuckled.  “I’ve had 34 name days.  I was a man by the time you were born.”

“Hardly,” she laughed.  “A boy of 14 is no man.”

His brow furrowed.  “I’d already had my first kill by then.”

“At 14 I’d lost both my parents and been beaten and humiliated,” she said softly.

He stroked her cheek.  “I remember,” he whispered. 

“Still,” he continued, “Other men my age have been married half their lives and have a whole pack of children.”

He had never considered a life of a wife and children.  All he knew was soldiering. 

“Isn’t the right person worth the wait?” she asked, drawing him in with her sparkling blue eyes.

“Sansa…” he said, avoiding her gaze.

“Please?” her eyes pleaded with him.  “Forget your past.  Take my name and start anew.” 

He sighed.  If there weren’t a million issues standing between them, he would wed her and bed her this moment.  But she was a lady and he a dog. 

He sat up and turned his back to her.  His head was much clearer without her face to draw him in. 

“I can’t forget my past,” he rasped.  “You deserve better than the likes of me.  A fancy lord, a knight, a prince.  Not the second son of the son of a kennel master.”

_That’s it_ , he thought, _remind her of the Dog you are_. 

“You.. stupid…” she said through fresh tears, “I don’t want a fancy lord.  I want YOU!”

“You don’t know what you want,” he said quietly, standing to retrieve his dropped clothes.

“To the Seven Hells I don’t!” she shouted at his back as he put on his breeches.  “I’m not a child anymore, Sandor.  That little girl got left behind in King’s Landing when I left with Littlefinger.” 

He had no words for her.  Her words cut like knives, but it was better he break her heart now than have her wake up years later full of regret and his child in her womb.  He slipped on his tunic.  His boots followed. 

He was knotting his belt before she broke the silence. 

“I thought you were different,” she whispered. 

His shoulders slumped.  “Me too, Little Bird.”

* * *

**Jon**  

It had been days since Bran and Sam had uncovered the truth about his parentage.  He’d tried to focus on the task at hand.  The Night King was coming, and they needed to be ready.

He just wasn’t sure if he was ready to reveal his roots to the entire North.  Dany supported him.  She would stand beside him as his aunt and liege.  Arya was cautious, secretive even.  Bran didn’t say much either, whether it was necessary for their success or would doom them, he wouldn’t say.  Davos and Tyrion Lannister warned against it.  Varys the Spider said nothing and simply watched.  Sansa…

She’d been distracted of late.  That much was clear to him.  She’d barely said two coherent words over the last day.  And Clegane was always at her heel, following her everywhere… 

Jon shook his head.  Surely Sansa was just overwhelmed with the responsibilities of being Lady of Winterfell while he was a King to some and Lord and Warden to others.  Keeping his roles straight made his head hurt.  

The rest of Winterfell had gone to bed, but Jon found that he could not.  He was still sitting in his desk in the solar hours after his siblings had gone to bed. 

A knock sounded at the heavy wooden door.

“Enter,” he answered.

The Spider glided into the solar.

“My Lord Snow,” he simpered, “A moment of your time if I may.”

“Lord Varys,” Jon said, standing and offering the Spider a chair by the fire. 

“So much like your father, Lord Eddard, and yet…” the Spider paused.  “My little birds tell me otherwise.”

Jon looked at him darkly.  He knew little of Lord Varys, only that he’s been hiding in the shadows of the Red Keep for years and had suddenly turned up in Essos at Queen Daenerys’s side after Tyrion Lannister’s trial for the death of Joffrey.  What could the Spider want with him.

“What can I help you with, my lord?” Jon asked in his thick Northern accent.

“Oh, I believe it is I who will be helping you,” the Spider smiled.

Jon narrowed his eyes.  “Go on,” he said.

“My little birds have whispered that one Sandor Clegane, once called “The Hound” has been spending an inordinate amount of time with your sister, Lady Sansa,” Varys said in his strange, foreign accent.

“What of it?” Jon asked.  “He is her shield until Lady Brienne returns.”

“Ohh, my little birds in the Riverlands tell me that may not be for some time,” Varys’ eyes glinted. 

Jon frowned.  Sansa had mentioned that Brienne was delayed and would be returning North as soon as she could.  She hadn’t said what kept her lady knight. 

Lord Varys coughed.  “My little birds tell me, my lord, that Clegane is not staying at his post come dark.”

Jon’s knuckles whitened on the armrests of his chair.  He’d trusted Clegane to keep Sansa safe…

“Not to worry, my lord,” the Spider smiled.  “Lady Sansa herself seems content.  I visited with her this morning.”

Jon sighed, “Lady Sansa is a woman grown and free to make her own choices.”

“Of course, my lord,” Varys said.  “Though I hope you would consider who your heir attaches herself to.”

Jon paused.  No, he had promised Sansa he would not choose for her as others had, especially now that his own parentage was murky. 

“Clegane is a good fighter, and the men seem to respect him,” Jon said with finality.

“Oh, I don’t need my birds to know that,” Varys rose.  “Though my birds tell me the traitor of the Blackwater may try to tuck tail and run once more.”

Jon glowered.  He measured his next words carefully.  “Thank you, my lord.”  He paused.  “Though I still wonder who you serve.”

“The realm, my lord.”  With that, Varys bowed and glided from the solar.

Jon slumped in his chair.  If Clegane was such a coward that he fled tonight, there was no chance of catching him.  He wouldn’t waste the manpower.  But if he was still in Winterfell on the morrow…  Old and New Gods help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm soooo sorry, lovelies! You made it through though! I promise our Sandor will figure shit out before too long. Stick with me!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you for your kind reviews after last chapter! I hope you'll be satisfied with how I'm resolving this little hiccup. 
> 
> As I hinted at in the last chapter, I'm going with Sandor's age in the books and Sansa's on the show. I love Rory McCann, but he's an old Hound, especially by Westeros standards. Somehow I go back and forth between Season 1 Rory and Aidan Turner. For those of you who have seen Poldark, I see some of Ross and Demelza mirrored in SanSan.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

** Chapter 12 **

**Sandor**

He strode across her chamber and opened the door to the servants’ steps.  He heard her cries, but the words were lost in his frazzled mind.  As he closed the door behind him, he heard the _thunk_ and shattering of a glass hitting the wooden door. 

His groin throbbed at the thought.  She would be angry, scratching at him.  But he steeled himself to keep going.  Part of him wanted to tuck tail and flee Winterfell.  She had all but proposed marriage to him.  It wasn’t that he was a coward, afraid of being tied down, but he’d spent the better part of his life telling himself he was a no-good, dirty dog.  He didn’t deserve the likes of her, beautiful and strong-willed.  Just like the songs, she deserved a noble knight or lord to whisk her away to his castle.

He was halfway down the stairs when his mind’s eye clouded over.  A voice that wasn’t his own echoed in his head.

_“GO TO THE GODSWOOD,”_ the voice said.

* * *

 

**Sansa**

She didn’t know what had possessed her to throw the wineglass at the door.  A small part of her had wanted it to hit him so he would turn around and look at her, but she’d been too late.  She waited for the door to open, hoping all he needed was a moment to clear his head.  His retreating footsteps fell heavy in her ears.

Sansa waited for the tears to come.  That was what happened in the songs and stories when the hero left the fair maiden.  But they didn’t come.  She’d cried for so long.  For her parents, for her home, for herself.  She had no tears left for him.  Still, her heart ached.  She’d allowed some of the ice covering her heart to melt and gotten little warmth in return.  Just hours before, he’d made her feel so wonderful and loved, but perhaps she had mistaken love for lust.  He wanted her body but not her heart, just like the rest of them.

The cold, gray dawn crept to her window.  Something drew her away from her thoughts.  She shivered as she replaced her dropped shift and wrapped herself in her dressing gown.

The yard below was quiet.  Winterfell still clung to the icy cold night that was fast fading.  One massive figure strode into the empty space.  She expected him to be heading for his quarters or even heading straight for the stables.  He stopped in the middle, almost like he was waiting at a crossroads. 

She watched as he approached the archway that led to the crypts and the Godswood beyond.

Somehow, she knew where he was going.  She shed her dressing gown for a simple frock she could tie herself.  She hesitated between the warm, fur-lined cloak and his refashioned Kingsguard cloak.  It would be frigid in the Godswood.  The green, lightweight fabric slipped through her fingers.  She wrapped herself in it, longing for his warmth.

* * *

**Jon**

He watched from the window of his solar as the Hound entered the yard.  Instead of going to rouse his men, he stayed rooted to the spot.  The Hound stopped and looked around.  Jon could see his mind turning, deciding what to do.  Surprised, Jon watched as he made for the Godswood.  Clegane was a Southerner and had little reason to visit the Old Gods. 

Then a green cloaked figure slipped out of the Great Keep.  The smooth stride and swish of skirts told him exactly who was following Clegane.  He would wait in the yard to see if Sansa would devour the Hound herself.  Something told him to not interfere just yet. 

* * *

 

**Sansa**

Her hurried steps slowed as she entered the quiet of the Godswood.  She felt the temperature rise as she approached the pool and the heart tree.  He was sitting with his back to her on the fallen log she had seen her father sit on so many times.  The fur lined cloak she had given him made him look so much like a proper Northerner.

He was rubbing down his blade with a rag as she approached.

“Calmed down, have you?” he rasped.  He didn’t look back at her. 

She stopped and waited.

“Come to take my head, or—”

“Do you love me?” she asked.

He half-turned and saw her.  His scowl softened at the sight of her. 

“Sansa, I—”

“You what?” she asked, noting her icy tone.  

He frowned.  Rising to his full height, he sheathed his blade.  He stepped over the log and approached her.  His gray eyes bored into her.

“I won’t deny it,” he growled.  “But you should.”

It was her turn to frown.  “Why?  So I can be a pawn in the Game?”

“Aye,” he rasped.  “Your brother is going to need a good pawn if he wants to win against Cersei.”

“I’m not playing anymore,” she said firmly.  “Winter has come, and I need you.”

“Me?” he growled.  “The Lannisters’ old Dog?  You can do better.” 

“I don’t want ‘better’!” she cried, collapsing into his chest.  She felt him hesitate before his warm, strong arms enveloped her. 

“I don’t deserve you, Little Bird,” he whispered into her hair. 

She looked up at him.  Steeling herself, she said, “Fuck knights and lords and kings.  You’re better than all of them.” 

He blinked at her.  “I’ve done terrible things in my life, girl.”

“I don’t care,” she whispered. 

For a brief moment, their eyes met.  Heat pooled in her woman’s place as she felt his member through her skirts.  He leaned down and captured her mouth with his.  Her heart pounded in her chest.  His musk was intoxicating, clouding her mind.

He broke the kiss and gazed at her.  His gloved hand grazed her cheek as she leaned into his touch. 

“Your lords will care,” he rasped. 

“Let them,” she said.  “There are more important things.”

“Aye,” he sighed, holding her to his warm chest.  “I’ll not let the dead get you, Little Bird.” 

She pulled herself away so she could look into his eyes.

“Will you promise yourself to me?” she asked?

“I’m already your shield,” he said, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Not that kind of promise,” she said, blushing. 

The realization dawned in his eyes.  “They will never accept me as your lord husband,” he rasped, averting his eyes.

“What about, ‘I don’t care,’ do you not understand?” she asked harshly.  “I am finished with the politics of matrimony.  I’ve had two failed marriages already.  I think I’m due some happiness.” 

She sighed.  “I’m not asking you to cloak me in the sept today.  Just… don’t leave me.”

“No, Little Bird,” he said, holding her to him.  “I won’t leave.”

* * *

**Sandor**

_Seven Hells_ , he thought as he held the Little Bird to his chest.  He hadn’t broken his promise to her brother to keep her safe from the likes of the Imp, but he imagined that wedding and bedding her had not been what the White Wolf had had in mind. 

They stood still for what felt like an eternity.  The quiet of the Godswood and her scent were comforting.  He was tempted to bed her there, but the crunch of the snow under his boots held him back.  The warmth of her bed called to him. 

The growl of her stomach broke the silence.  

“Shall I escort you to the Great Hall to break your fast?” he japed. 

“You may go,” she said, smiling, “But I will stay and pray to the Old Gods.  Today is an important day for House Stark.”

He kissed her brow and left her at the weirwood tree to make his way back.

As he neared the gate, the noise of Winterfell in the morning could be heard.  He made his way back through the tunnel intending to seek out some bread and ale in the kitchens before training in the yard. 

He passed the entrance to the crypts, and a small, dark figure threw him against the wall.  Cold steel was at his throat.

“My sister?” Jon Snow growled at him. 

“Praying to your gods,” Sandor said, looking down at the dagger pressed to his throat. 

“Give me a reason,” the White Wolf glared.

“I doubt she’d want the head of her betrothed on a spike, Your Grace,” he rasped.

Jon continued glaring but dropped the dagger from his throat.  “I don’t recall you asking my permission to wed my sister.”

“Does she need it after all she’s been through?” Sandor folded his arms in front of his chest.  “She’s not a pawn in your Game.”

Jon sighed.  “No,” he said.  “She’s not.  I just… want to know she’ll be taken care of.”  He eyed Sandor carefully. 

Sandor was about to reply when a girlish giggle floated up from the crypts.

“Shh, before someone hears us, milady!” a voice said. 

Jon turned and followed Sandor’s gaze as the little she-wolf and the boy from Eastwatch—Gendry, Sandor thought his name was—came up from below.  They froze as they saw the pair before them.

The boy paled.  “Y—Your Grace,” he said, looking down at the ground.

Sandor burst out laughing.  He couldn’t help himself.  Jon Snow had been so concerned about one sister, he’d apparently forgotten the other.  They all looked at him. 

“You Starks and your honor,” he shook his head, chuckling.  He left the three of them and went in search of food and a greenboy to knock around. 

* * *

 

**Jon**  

“Jon,” Arya said, approaching her brother.  “Please don’t be mad at Gendry.  It’s my fault.” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose.  Sansa was one thing.  Twice married, she was no longer a maiden.

“Gendry,” he said quietly, “You may go.”  The bastard of Robert Baratheon was taller and broader than he was, but he scurried away before Jon changed his mind. 

“Arya,” he said, looking at his sister. 

She stood before him dressed as a boy as she usually did these days.  She had grown up since they had left Winterfell, but she looked like the little girl who had just been caught throwing food at a feast. 

“You seem very familiar with him,” Jon continued.

“Aye,” she said.  “It’s a long story.  We met when Father was trying to get me home before…”

“It’s alright, Arya,” Jon said gently.  “He’s a good lad.”

“I never thought I would see him again, especially not here,” she said, hiding a smile. 

John sighed.  He supposed that Arya falling for the bastard son of a king was not such a terrible thing.  If the reports were true, the Stormlands had been without a proper lord since the mysterious death of Renly Baratheon.  After Daenerys took the Iron Throne, he would speak to her about Gendry.  Until then, he would keep his secret and caution him to not reveal his siring to just anyone.  Even Winterfell wasn’t safe from spying ears. 

Just then, the green cloaked figure of Sansa emerged in the passage.

“Jon,” she breathed as she approached.  “What is this about?”

“Nothing,” Arya said quickly. 

Sansa eyed her sister carefully. 

Jon sighed.  “You are both women grown and free to make your own choices.  Gods know I’m not one to judge.  Just prepare yourselves for resistance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, did I do them justice? Gendrya shippers, I am sorry I didn't give you more! "Use your imagination" ;) I had intended to get a little farther along in the plot in this chapter, but I didn't want to overload it with too many big reveals. Jon and the Northern lords will have to wait!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so, so sorry to keep you all waiting!!! It's been a busy few weeks with school stuff, and I struggled with how I was going to manage getting over this hump in the story. Enjoy a loooong chapter with lots of big reveals! Not a lot of SanSan, but some big plot things.

** Chapter 13 **

**Sandor**

Sandor shifted uneasily as he stood behind the Little Bird’s chair at the high table in the Great Hall of Winterfell.  He was utterly exhausted from only getting a short nap in between the morning’s events and now.  But his Little Bird had asked him to be there, and so there he stood.

The Northern lords scattered about the room were murmuring to each other as they took in the scene.  The four living children of Ned Stark were seated at the high table with their stony Northern faces alongside the Dragon Queen and the Imp.  A silent Unsullied soldier stood behind her.  Samwell Tarly shifted uneasily in his seat next to the crippled Stark boy.

Jon Snow held up his hand.  “Order!” he called.  The room fell silent.  “I thank you, my lords and ladies, for heeding the call.  Winter is here, and I know you would all prefer to be bundled up in your holdfasts, but the dead will not wait, and other matters have come to light.”

“Out with it, Jon Snow!” a dark haired girl called.  “House Mormont has answered the call, but we will not wait forever!”  Sandor noted that Jorah Mormont stiffened as eyes turned his way. 

“All will be made clear soon enough, my lady,” Jon Snow said.  “As you all know, the Long Night approaches, and the dead with it.  We have secured an alliance with Queen Daenerys, but that has not come without compromise.”

A grey haired balding man in furs rose up.  “We trusted you, Jon Snow.  We called you King in the North.  And this is how you repay us?  Selling our loyalty to a foreign queen for her dragons?” 

“I seem to recall that your loyalty to House Stark has been called into question before, Lord Glover,” the dark haired girl said.  “House Mormont will hear what House Stark has to say.”

Sandor released the pommel of his sword that he hadn’t realized he was holding.  At the same time, the Little Bird released a breath.

“Thank you, my lady,” Jon Snow continued as his bannerman sat down in a huff.  “In exchange for her armies and dragons against the Night King, I have bent the knee to Queen Daenerys and agreed to help her overthrow the usurper Cersei Lannister and win back the Iron Throne for House Targaryen.” 

“And why should we care about the Southern throne?” Lady Mormont asked.  “The Southerners have done little to prepare for Winter and the Long Night.  I say let them freeze!”

The Imp spoke up then, “Because my beloved sister will not rest until she rules all seven kingdoms even if they are a smoldering ruin.”

At this, the doors of the hall opened.  In strode Brienne of fucking Tarth, a gaunt red headed man, a boy Sandor remembered as the Imp’s former squire, the Imp’s man Bronn, and the last man in Westeros Sandor expected to see in Winterfell.

“That I can confirm, little brother,” Jaime Lannister smirked. 

Sandor had expected an uproar, but it seemed that the Northern lords were as shocked as he was.

The Little Bird finally spoke.  “Lady Brienne, what is the meaning of this?”

“I apologize for the delay in my journey North, my lady, but I picked up a few stragglers in the Riverlands,” Brienne said.

The redheaded man stepped forward.  “Lady Sansa,” he rasped, “It’s good to see you alive and well.  My sister was correct.  You do favor her.”  He gave her a heavy lidded smile.

“Uncle Edmure?” she asked.

“In the flesh.  I’ll not drag out this meeting with the details, but Lady Brienne saw fit to spring me from my cell in Casterly Rock and restore some order to the Riverlands,” he looked to the lady knight beside him.

It was the little Lord Stark’s turn to speak.  “Uncle speaks truly.  Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime traveled to Casterly Rock and brought our Uncle, his wife, and his son back to Riverrun.  Tully bannermen now hold Riverrun.”

Jaime gazed upon Bran Stark as if he had seen a ghost.  Brienne took the opportunity to glare at Sandor.  He noted the small shake of the Little Bird’s head in front of him.  _Not now_ , she seemed to say. 

Jon Snow stood at this point.  “Welcome back, Lady Brienne, Lord Edmure.  We will speak of your travels later.”  He sighed as the newcomers took their seats.  “My brother’s gift of greensight reminds me why I have gathered you all here.  I confess that it is not her armies and dragons alone that bind me to Queen Daenerys.” 

He turned and looked to Samwell Tarly, seeming to search for support.  “Most of you know that Eddard Stark brought me home to Winterfell after Robert’s Rebellion and claimed I was his bastard son.  Bran’s visions and the testament of a septon whose diary Maester Samwell found in Oldtown prove otherwise.  I’m told that Lord Reed to corroborate the story.”

A small man in mottled grey furs rose.  “Are you sure you want to tell them, my lord?  Your lord father would not fault you hiding that particular truth.”

“Aye, it must be done if we’re to trust each other,” Jon said.

Sandor noted that the Little Bird and her sister nor the Dragon Queen seemed to be showing any apprehension.  Meanwhile the murmurs were running through the crowd again.

Jon Snow rose to his full height.  “I am not a Snow nor am I a proper Stark either.  Eddard Stark and his trueborn children are my blood, but he was not my father.”  He paused, but no one spoke.  “My mother was Lyanna Stark.  My father was Rhaegar Targaryen.”

* * *

 

**Sansa**

The murmurs exploded into full blown outrage.  The bannermen were on their feet yelling and pointing.  The few guards scattered around the edges attempted to subdue them.  Lord Glover was calling his men and storming for the door.

Sansa rose to her full height.  She was notably taller than Jon beside her but still dwarfed by Clegane at her back.

“Order!” she cried, but her voice got lost in the shouts.  “ORDER!” she tried again.

“SIT THE FUCK DOWN YE MONGRELS!!” the Hound barked behind her.  The shouts died down. 

“Thank you,” she breathed.  Louder she said, “Jon may be my cousin by blood, but he was raised as my brother.  Ned Stark loved him as a son.  If you loved my father, hear out his son.”

“Thank you, Sansa,” Jon gave her a smile as she retook her seat.  Stark guards ushered House Glover back to their seats, though Lord Glover was still blustering under his breath.  “This revelation about my parentage does not alter my loyalties to House Stark and the North.  I was raised in the North and will always be a Northman.  I will not seek out the Iron Throne for myself, though it is my birthright.”  He sat down as if that was the end of it.  Silence followed.

“Lord Stark,” Lord Manderly finally spoke up, looking at Bran, “Would you care to explain why you are not taking up your birthright over your bastard brother and trueborn sisters?”

Bran shifted in his wheeled chair and turned a blank gaze onto Lord Manderly.  “I’m the Three-Eyed Raven,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“What a children’s story?” Lord Manderly laughed.  “I understand you have the rare gift of greensight, lad, but your father and brothers didn’t die for you to not stake your claim.”

“The Three-Eyed-Raven is no story, Lord Manderly,” Bran said blandly.  “After the sack of Winterfell by the Ironborn, I went North with Lord Reed’s children.  I sought out the Three-Eyed-Raven beyond the Wall.  I see all that was and is and some that will be.  Brandon Stark died beyond the Wall along with Jojen Reed and Hodor.  The Three-Eyed-Raven returned with Meera Reed.”

The eyes of the bannermen slowly turned to Lord Reed.  “The boy speaks truly,” he croaked.  “My son had his own greensight visions.  Jojen and Meera traveled to Winterfell, found the Stark boys, and made the trip beyond the Wall.” 

Sansa found her voice again.  “Thank you, Lord Reed.  My lords, I believe we have had enough revelations for one night.  We will adjourn for now and take up the discussion tomorrow.  We must finalize our defenses and be ready for the Long Night, but we will not be ready if we don’t sleep.”

Sansa let out the breath she’d been holding as the bannermen rose and left the hall.  A large hand rested on her shoulder.

“You did well, Little Bird,” Clegane rasped.

“Thank you,” she replied quietly.  She rose and turned to him.  “Accompany me to the solar.  I believe there is more I must discuss with my family.”

Sansa led the way out of the Great Hall across walkways into the Great Keep.  Clegane kept pace with her easily.  She only hoped that the others followed.  The fire in the solar welcomed them in as she took her customary seat by the hearth.  Clegane took up sentry at the door.  Within moments, the others began trickling in.

Lady Brienne arrived first followed by Uncle Edmure and Jaime Lannister.  She stood a moment in front of Clegane, eyeing him carefully before she entered.  Jaime smirked before settling himself into the other chair by the fire.  Uncle Edmure slunk in and took a chair by the wall.

“Lady Sansa,” Brienne said stiffly, “I once again apologize for the delay in my travels.  I had thought you would have chosen a… different shield to hold my place.”

Clegane barked a laugh.  “Here I am, Tarth, doing your job for you just like always.”

Sansa gave him a pointed look.  The Hound came to heel.  “You were saying, Lady Brienne,” Sansa smiled demurely. 

Before Brienne could speak, Sam arrived carrying Bran followed by Arya hauling in the wheeled chair.  They were followed in by Jon and Queen Daenerys along with Tyrion and Ser Davos.  The Unsullied, Grey Worm, took up sentry opposite Clegane.  Sansa noted Clegane’s eyes narrowing at the smaller, dusky skinned man.

Jaime sat up in his chair and embraced his brother when he approached.  “It’s good to see you,” Sansa heard him whisper in Tyrion’s ear. 

“And you,” Tyrion said before moving over to where Daenerys had alighted herself upon the settee.  “Lannisters, Starks, Tarygaryens, and Tullys working together to save the world,” he smirked.  “Who’d have thought?”

“Baratheons too,” Gendry said, appearing in the doorway.

“Baratheons?” Daenerys asked, bristling.

“Aye, your grace,” Gendry said, standing beside Arya.  “Jon, Ser Davos, I know you didn’t want me to say anything, but I agree with what you said about not hiding the truth.”  He looked Daenerys in the eye.  “My name is Gendry.  My father was Robert Baratheon.  My mother was of the smallfolk of Flea Bottom.  I’m just a Waters, so you’ll hear nothing from me about the throne.  I just want to arm your armies.”  He bit his lip as blue eyes met violet.

“And why should I let the Usurper’s bastard live?” Daenerys said icily.  Sansa could almost see the fire in her violet eyes.

“Because, your grace,” Tyrion said, stepping in front of her, “He has bent the knee without fuss.  Use his skills to arm your armies against my sister and reward his loyalty later.  You will need a valid claimant to Storm’s End if you want to bring the Stormlands under control.”

At this, Brienne spoke again.  “My Lord Gendry, my father, Lord Selwyn Tarth, is sworn to your father’s house.”  She turned to Sansa.  “My Lady, may I ask you to consider my oath fulfilled?  I know I didn’t do as much as I should have to keep my oath with your lady mother…”

“Once you have explained how you came upon the Kingslayer and released my uncle, yes.  You have served House Stark most faithfully, though I hope we will have your sword in the battles to come,” Sansa said.

“You shall, my lady,” the lady knight turned back to Gendry.  “My Lord Gendry, House Tarth has remained faithful to House Baratheon.  I served your uncle, Lord Renly, until his death.  Will you accept me as your sworn shield?”  She kneeled before him.

“Erm,” Gendry squirmed and gave a sideways glance at Arya, who grinned back at him.  “I accept your shield, milady.”

Brienne rose and took a position next to her new liege lord.

“Alright, enough of that,” Jaime chuckled.  “You’re all wondering why I’m here.  Personally I’m wondering why I’m up here and not in a cell.”  He glanced at Bran.

“Bran, why does he keep looking at you?” Sansa asked.

“He pushed me from the tower,” Bran said simply.  “I saw him with Cersei.”

Jaime stiffened as all eyes in the room turned on him.  Jon’s hand went to the pommel of his sword.  “The boy speaks true,” Jaime said, “But I swear to you, I’m not that person anymore.”

“Explain,” Sansa said, putting on the airs of the Lady of Winterfell.

Jaime swallowed.  “There was a time when I loved Cersei more than a brother should.  We’re twins.  We shared a womb and a bond.  I--,” he hesitated.  “I fathered her children.  Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen, none of them were Robert’s.  She wouldn’t let him into her bed properly.  She always said I was the most important person to her along with the children.  But--,” he licked his lips.  “Their deaths changed her.  She’s gone insane.  She—she blew up the sept, many of you saw her in the dragon pit.  I tried to get her to keep her word to you, but she’s too consumed by the power she holds now.  I left when she threatened me with the Mountain.”  He gave a glance at Clegane who shifted at the mention of his brother but said nothing.  “I left King’s Landing and came North.  Bronn left with me.  House Lannister still owes him a castle, and he figured he wasn’t getting one from Cersei.”  He looked at Tyrion, and they shared a smirk. 

Brienne took up the tale at that point.  “Ser Jaime and Bronn came upon Podrick and I as we were travelling North.  We were halfway to the Twins when Ser Jaime told me Lord Edmure was at Casterly Rock and that it was likely only lightly guarded after being captured by Queen Daenerys.  I presumed that Lady Catelyn would have wanted her brother returned home.  We gathered what remains of the Tully bannermen and took back Riverrun from the Freys.  Surprisingly, we found the Twins practically abandoned when we rode through.  The Mallisters hold the Twins now.  Lady Tully and the young Lord Hoster have been restored to Riverrun.”

“I thank you, Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime, for restoring the Riverlands to the rightful liege lord,” Sansa smiled demurely.  “Lady Brienne, I release you from your oath to my lady mother.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Brienne said.  She looked at Jaime.  “There is one more thing.”  She drew her sword and handed it to Jaime who drew his own.

“I named this sword Oathkeeper,” he said, kneeling before Sansa.  “The name of the other doesn’t bear repeating here.  My father always wanted Valyrian steel for House Lannister.  It was one of his greatest regrets.  But I would see these blades returned to their rightful House.”  He handed the swords to Sansa who held them carefully.

Jon stepped up and took Oathkeeper from her and examined it carefully.  “House Stark had one valyrian steel blade,” he said, eyeing Jaime carefully.  “Why give us two in return?”

“These swords were once one blade, Jon,” Sansa said.  “These are Ice.”

Arya joined them at that point.  “Ice,” she breathed, running her hand along Oathkeeper’s blade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well how did I do? I'm sure that's not how the show will handle it, but I imagine that Jon would be honest and not keep secrets. How did you like the entrance of Jaime and Brienne? I wasn't sure exactly when I was going to bring them in, but it seemed like the right moment. Maybe I'll eventually get around to the fic that details how they rescued Edmure.
> 
> Also, I'm working on another SanSan fic! This one is a regency-style AU. Chapter 1 is in the works, but expect it to be posted soon. I also have plans for a modern AU, but I haven't started that one yet.


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